UC-NRLF 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


A7       *-       7 
."  *>4 


WORKS  BY  E.  P.  ROE 


BARRIERS  BURNED  AWAY. 

WHAT  CAN  SHE  Do? 
OPENING  OF  A  CHESTNUT  BURR. 

FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST. 
NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


Each  1  Vol.,  12mo.    Price  $1.75, 


DODD,    MEAD    &    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS. 


N  EAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


BY 


REV.  E.  P.  ROE, 

AUTHOR  OF    "  BARRIERS  BURNED  AWAY,"    "  WHAT  CAN  SHE  Do  ?  "    u  OPENING 
A  CHESTNUT  BURR,"    "  FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST,"  &c.,  &c. 


NEW  YORK: 

DODD,    MEAD   &   COMPANY, 
751  BROADWAY. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyright  by 

DODD,    MEAD    &   COMPANY. 
1876. 


PREFACE. 


autumn  winds  are  again  blowing,  and  the 
-*•  evenings  are  growing  longer.  At  the  time 
when  the  fires  are  kindled  once  more  upon  the 
hearth,  I  send  this  story  out  to  visit  those  whom 
I  can  almost  hope  to  regard  as  friends.  If  it  meets 
the  same  kind  welcome  and  lenient  treatment  which 
my  previous  works  have  received,  I  shall  have 
more  than  sufficient  reason  to  be  satisfied.  If,  in 
addition  to  being  a  guest  at  the  fireside,  it  becomes 
an  incentive  to  the  patient  performance  of  duty  in 
the  face  of  all  temptation,  I  shall  be  profoundly 
thankful.  I  am  not  afraid  to  inform  the  reader  that 
these  books  are  written  with  the  honest,  earnest 
purpose  of  helping  him  to  do  right ;  and  success,  in 
this  respect,  is  the  best  reward  I  crave.  I  do  not 
claim  for  these  books  the  character  of  beautiful 
works  of  art.  Many  things  may  have  good  and 
wholesome  uses  without  exciting  the  world's  admi 
ration.  A  man  who  cannot  model  a  perfect  statue 
may  yet  erect  a  lamp-post,  and  place  thereon  a  light 
which  shall  save  many  a  wayfarer  from  stumbling. 


8  PREFACE. 

It  is  with  much  diffidence  and  doubt  that  I  have 
ventured  to  construct  my  story  in  a  past  age,  fearing 
lest  I  should  give  a  modern  coloring  to  everything. 
But,  while  the  book  is  not  designed  to  teach  history, 
I  have  carefully  consulted  good  authorities  in  regard 
to  those  parts  which  are  historical. 

Captain  Molly  has  her  recognized  place  in  the 
Revolution,  but  my  leading  characters  are  entirely 
imaginary.  Still,  I  hope  the  reader  may  not  find 
them  such  pale  shadows  that  their  joys,  sorrows,  and 
temptations  will  appear  mere  sickly  fancies,  but 
rather  the  reflex  of  genuine  human  experiences. 
They  have  become  so  real  and  dear  to  me  that  I 
part  with  them  very  reluctantly. 

CORNWALL-ON-THE-HUDSON,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 
A.  CHILD  OF  NATURE Page  13 

CHAPTER  II. 
VERA  AND  HER  HOME 27 

CHAPTER  III. 
THE  ICONOCLASTS 46 

CHAPTER  IV. 
FOR  WORSE 54 

CHAPTER  V. 
WASHINGTON'S  SERMON 66 

CHAPTER  VI. 
A  SCENE  AT  BLACK  SAM'S , 79 

CHAPTER  VII. 
NEW  YORK  UNDER  FIRE 86 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
LARRY  MEETS  HIS  FATE -. 94 

CHAPTER  IX. 
LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE no 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS 148 

CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD 166 

CHAPTER  XII. 
BEACON  FIRES 188 

1* 


IO  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
LIBERTY  PROCLAIMED  AMONG  THE  HIGHLANDS Page  201 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON 214 

CHAPTER  XV. 
SAVILLE'S  NIGHT  RECONNOISSANCE 227 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
DARK  DAYS 235 

CHAPTER  XVII.       . 

"  THE  WHITE  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS  " 251 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
"  THE  BLACK  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS  " 259 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY 272 

CHAPTER  XX. 
GULA  HEARS  A  VERITABLE  VOICE 284 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
CAMP  FIRES  AND  SUBTLER  FLAMES 300 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS 318 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
THE  WIFE'S  QUEST  AMONG  THE  DEAD 333 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
VERA'S  SEARCH  AMpNG  THE  DEAD 336 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
THE  WOMAN  IN  VERA  AWAKES 34^ 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME 353 


CONTENTS.  j  l 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
VERA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST  ......................  Page  374 

CHAPTER  XXVIII, 
A  HASTY  MARRIAGE  ......................................  387 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
SEEMING  SUCCESS  .............................  '.  ............  393 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
A  MASTER  MIND  AND  WILL  ................................  400 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
THE  REVELATION  .........................................  415 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
GROPING  HER  WAY  .......................................  424 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
STRONG  TEMPTATION  .....................................  435 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
A  STRANGER'S  COUNSEI  .....................................  442 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
THE  PARTING  ...........................................  450 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
SEEKING  DEATH  ..........................................  459 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
SEEKING  LIFE  ..............  ..............................  475 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
A  MYSTERY  SOLVED  —  GREAT  CHANGES  ......................  493 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
EXPLANATIONS  ...........................................  521 

CHAPTER  XL. 
HUSBAND  AND  WIFE  ..........  .    .........................  .  53^ 


CHAPTER  XLI. 
WEDDED  WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING  ........................  547 


NEAR  TO  NATURE'S"  HEART, 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  CHILD   OF  NATURE. 

granite  mountains  that  form  the  historical 
-I-  Highlands  of  the  Hudson,  have  changed  but 
little  during  the  past  century.  On  the  1 7th  of  June, 
about  one  hundred  years  ago,  a  day  inseparably 
associated  in  American  memory  with  Bunker  Hill, 
and  the  practical  severance  of  the  cable  of  love  and 
loyalty  that  once  bound  the  colonies  to  the  mo 
ther  country,  these  bold  hills  undoubtedly  appeared 
much  as  they  do  now.  In  the  swales  and  valleys, 
the  timber,  untouched  as  yet  by  the  woodman's  axe, 
was  heavier  than  the  third  or  fourth  growth  of  our 
day.  But  the  promontories  overhanging  the  river 
had  then,  as  now,  the  same  grand  and  rugged  out 
lines  of  rock  and  precipice.  The  shrubbery,  and 
dwarf  trees,  that  catch  and  maintain  their  tenacious 
hold  on  every  crevice  and  fissure,  softened  but  lit 
tle  the  frowning  aspect  of  the  heights,  that,  like 
grim  sentinels,  guard  the  river. 

But  nature   in  her  harshest    moods    can  scarcely 
resist  the  blandishments  of  June  ;  even  as  the  stern- 


14  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

est  features  relax  under  the  caresses  of  youth  and 
beauty.  On  this  warm  still  day  of  early  summer, 
when  over  the  city  of  Boston  the  wildest  storm  of 
Avar  was  breaking,  the  spirit  of.  peace  seemed  su 
preme  even  in  that  rugged  gorge  into  which  the 
Hudson  passes  from  Newburgh  Bay,  and  a  lumi 
nous  haze  softened  every  sharp  outline.  The  east 
ern  shore  was  aglow  with  the  afternoon  sun,  like  a 
glad  face  radiant  with  smiles.  The  western  bank 
with  its  deepening  shadows  was  like  a  happy  face 
passing  from  thought  into  revery,  which,  if  not  sad, 
is  at  least  tinged  with  melancholy. 

From  most  points  of  observation  there  were  no 
evidences  of  other  life  than  that  distinctively  belong 
ing  to  the  wilderness.  If  the  pressure  of  population 
has  brought  so  few  inhabitants  in  our  time,  there 
was  still  less  inducement  then  'to  settle  where 
scarcely  a  foot-hold  could  be  obtained  among  the 
crags.  Therefore  the  region  that  is  now  filling  up 
with  those  who  prefer  beautiful  scenery  to  the  richest 
lowlands,  was  one  of  the  wildest  solitudes  on  the  con 
tinent,  though  amidst  rapidly  advancing  civilization, 
north  as  well  as  south  of  the  mountains. 

While  at  that  time  the  riv£r  was  one  of  the  chief 
highways  of  the  people,  the  means  of  communication 
between  the  seaboard  and  a  vast  interior,  so  that  the 
batteaux  of  voyagers  and  passing  sails  were  common 
enough,  still  the  precipitous  shores  offered  slight 
inducement  to  land,  and  the  skippers  of  the  little 
craft  were  glad  to  pass  hastily  through  this  forbid 
ding  region  of  sudden  flaws  and  violent  tides,  to  the 
broad  expanse  of  Tappan  Zee,  where  the  twinkle  of 


A    CHILD    OF    NATURE.  15 

home  lights  and  the  curling  smoke  from  farm-house 
and  hamlet  in  the  distance  reminded  them  that  they 
were  near  their  own  kind. 

But  there  was  neither  boat  nor  sail  in  sight  on  the 
memorable  afternoon  upon  which  my  story  opens, 
not  a  trace  of  the  human  life  that  now  pulsates 
through  this  great  artery  of  the  land,  save  a  small 
sail-boat  drifting  slowly  under  the  shadow  of  Cro'nest. 
The  faint  breeze  from  the  west  died  away  as  the 
sun  declined,  and  the  occupant  had  dropped  the 
sail  that  only  flapped  idly  against  the  mast.  The 
tide  was  still  setting  up  in  the  centre  of  the  river, 
but  had  turned  close  in-shore.  Therefore,  the  young 
man,  who  was  the  sole  occupant  of  the  boat,  re 
clined  languidly  in  the  stern,  with  his  hand  on  the 
tiller,  and  drifted  slowly  with  the  current  around  the 
mimic  capes  and  along  the  slight  indentations  of  the 
shore,  often  so  close  that  he  could  leap  upon  a  jut 
ting  rock. 

Though  the  almost  motionless  vessel  and  the 
seemingly  listless  occupant  were  in  keeping  with  the 
sultry  hour,  during  which  nature  appeared  in  a 
dreamy  revery,  still  their  presence  was  the  result  of 
war.  A  nearer  view  of  the  young  man  who  was 
mechanically  steering,  proved  that  his  languid  atti 
tude  was  calculated  to  mislead.  A  frown  lowered 
upon  his  wide  brow,  and  his  large,  dark  eyes  were 
full  of  trouble — now  emitting  gleams  of  anger,  and 
again  moist  in  their  sympathy  with  thoughts  that 
must  have  been  very  sad  or  very  bitter.  His  full, 
flexible  mouth  was  at  times  tremulous  with  feeling, 
but  often  so  firmly  compressed  as  to  express  not 


1 6  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

so  much  resolve,  as  desperation.  In  contrast  to 
nature's  peace,  there  was  evidently  the  severest  con 
flict  in  this  man's  soul.  In  his  deep  pre-occupation, 
he  would  sometimes  permit  his  boat  to  drift  almost 
ashore ;  then  his  impatient  and  powerful  grasp  upon 
the  tiller  bespoke  a  fiery  spirit,  and  a  strong,  prompt 
hand  to  do  its  behests. 

But,  by  the  time  he  had  crossed  the  flats,  south 
of  "  Cro'nest,"  he  seemed  inclined  to  escape  from 
his  painful  revery,  and  take  some  interest  in  sur 
rounding  scenes.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
appeared  vexed  at  his  slow  progress.  He  took  the 
oars,  pulled  a  few  strokes,  then  cast  them  down 
again,  muttering, 

"  After  all,  what  do  a  few  hours  signify  ?  Besides, 
I  am  infinitely  happier  and  better  off  here  than  in 
New  York;"  and  he  threw  himself  back  again  in 
his  old  listless  attitude. 

His  boat  was  now  gliding  around  that  remarkable 
projection  of  land  that  has  since  gained  a  world 
wide  celebrity  under  the  name  of  West  Point.  When 
a  little  beyond  what  is  now  known  as  the  old  Steam 
boat  Landing,  he  thought  he  heard  a  woman's  voice. 
He  listened  intently,  and  a  snatch  of  wild  melody, 
clear  and  sweet,  floated  to  him  through  the  still  air. 
He  was  much  surprised,  for  he  expected  to  find  no 
one  in  that  solitude,  much  less  a  woman  with  a  voice 
as  sweet  as  that  of  a  brown-thrush  that  was  giving 
an  occasional  prelude  to  its  evening  song  in  a  shady 
nook  of  the  mountains. 

He  at  once  proposed  to  solve  the  mystery,  and  so 
divert  his  thoughts  from  a  subject  that  was  evidently 


A    CHILD    OF  NATURE.  ij 

torture  to  dwell  upon ;  and  keeping  his  boat  close 
to  the  land,  that  it  might  be  hidden,  and  that  he 
could  spring  ashore  the  moment  he  wished,  he  pur 
sued  his  way  with  a  pleasant  change  in  a  face  natu 
rally  frank  and  prepossessing. 

As  he  approached  the  extreme  point  where  now 
the  light-house  stands,  the  notes  became  clear  and 
distinct.  But  he  could  distinguish  neither  air  nor 
words.  Indeed,  at  his  distance,  the  melody  seemed 
improvised,  capricious,  the  utterances  of  a  voice 
peculiarly  sweet  but  untrained. 

It  soon  became  evident  that  the  songstress  was 
on  the  south  side  of  the  rocky  point,  on  which  grew 
clumps  of  low  cedar.  Standing  with  an  oar  in  the 
bow  of  his  boat,  and  causing  it  to  touch  the  shore 
so  gently  that  the  keel  did  not  even  grate  upon  the 
rock,  he  sprang  lightly  to  land,  and  secured  his  ves 
sel.  He  next  stole  crouchingly  up  behind  a  low, 
wide-spreading  cedar,  from  whence  he  could  see 
over  the  ridge. 

It  was  a  strange  and  unexpected  vision  that 
greeted  him.  He  naturally  supposed  that  some 
woodman's  or  farmer's  daughter  had  come  down  to 
the  bank,  or  that  a  party  of  pleasure  had  stopped 
there  for  a  time.  But  he  saw  a  creature  whom  he 
could  in  no  way  account  for. 

Reclining  with  her  back  toward  him  on  a  little 
grassy  plot  just  above  a  rock  that  shelved  down 
to  the -water,  was  a  young  girl  dressed  in  har 
mony  with  her  sylvan  surroundings.  Her  attire 
was  as  simple  as  it  was  strange,  consisting  of  an 
embroidered  tunic  of  finely- dressed  fawn -skin, 


1 8  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

reaching  a  little  below  the  knee,  and  ending  in  a 
blue  fringe.  Some  lighter  fabric  was  worn  under  it 
and  encased  the  arms.  The  shapely  neck  and  throat 
were  -bare,  though  almost  hidden  by  a  wealth  of 
wavy,  golden  tresses  that  flowed  down  her  shoul 
ders.  Her  hat  appeared  to  have  been  constructed 
out  of  the  skin  of  the  snowy  heron,  with  its  beak 
and  plumage  preserved  intact,  and  dressed  into 
the  jauntiest  style.  Leggings  of  strong  buck 
skin,  that  formed  a  protection  against  the  briars 
and  roughness  of  the  forest,  were  clasped  around 
a  slender  ankle,  and  embroidered  moccasins  com 
pleted  an  attire  that  was  not  in  the  style  of  the 
girl  of  the  period  even  a  century  ago.  She  might 
have  passed  for  an  Indian  maiden,  were  it  not  for 
the  snowy  whiteness  of  her  neck,  where  the  sun  had 
not  browned  it,  and  for  her  good  pronunciation  of 
English.  In  her  little  brown  hand  she  held  a  fish 
ing-rod,  but  she  had  ceased  to  watch  her  floral  float, 
which  was  the  bud  of  a  water-lily  tied  to  the  line. 
Indeed,  the  end  of  her  pole  dipped  idly  in  the  water, 
while  she,  forgetful  of  the  sport  or  toil,  whichever  it 
might  be,  sang  her  passing  feelings  and  fancies  as 
unaffectedly  as  the  birds  on  the  hills  around,  that 
now  were  growing  tuneful  after  the  heat  of  the  day. 
Thus  far,  our  hero,  whom  we  may  as  well  intro 
duce  at  once  as  Theron  Saville,  had  been  able  to 
distinguish  only  disjointed  words,  that  had  no  seem 
ing  connection  ;  mere  musical  sparkles,  rising  from 
the  depths  of  a  glad,  innocent  heart.  But  imagine 
his  surprise  when  she  commenced  singing  to  an  ail 
that  he  had  often  heard  in  England : 


A    CHILD    OF   NATURE.  ig 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  oxlips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows." 

She  broke  off  suddenly,  sprang  up,  and  com 
menced  winding  the  line  upon  her  pole.  Then 
Saville  saw  that,  though  very  young  seemingly,  she 
was  taller  and  more  fully  developed  than  he  had 
supposed.  At  first*  glance  she  had  appeared  to  be 
little  more  than  a  child,  but  as  she  stood  erect,  he 
saw  that  she  was  somewhat  above  medium  height 
and  straight  as  an  arrow. 

He  was  most  eager  to  see  her  face,  thinking  that 
it  might  help  to  solve  the  mystery,  but  she  per 
versely  kept  it  from  him  as  sh'e  leisurely  wound  up 
her  line,  in  the  mean  time  chattering  to  herself  in  a 
voice  so  flexible  and  natural  that  it  seemed  to  mir 
ror  every  passing  thought.  Now,  in  mimic  anger 
she  cried,  "  Out  upon  you,  fishes,  great  and  small — 
whales,  leviathans,  and  minnows  !  *  Canst  thou  draw 
out  leviathan  with  a  hook?  Canst  thou  put  a 
hook  into  his  nose  ?  '  No,  I  can't ;  nor  in  the  nose  of  a 
single  perch,  white  or  yellow.  Did  I  not  whisper 
when  I  first  came,  '  Come  home  with  me  to  sup 
per  ?'  Scaly,  unmannerly  knaves,  out  upon  you  ;  I'll 
none  of  you." 

Then,  with  instant  change  to  comic  pathos,  she 
continued,  "  'Alas,  'tis  true,  'tis  pity ;  and  pity  'tis, 
'tis  true.'  I'll  none  of  you — when  I  wanted  a 
dozen." 

Suddenly,  with  a  motion  as  quick  as  a  bird  on  its 
spray,  she  turned,  and  appeared  to  look  directly  at 
Saville.  He  was  so  startled  that  he  almost  discov 
ered  himself,  but  was  reassured  by  noticing  that  she 


20  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

had  not  seen  him,  but  was  looking  over  his  shelter 
ing  cedar  at  something  beyond,  with  a  pouting  vexa 
tion,  that  he  learned  a  moment  later  was  only 
assumed.  He  now  saw  her  features,  but  while  they 
awakened  a  thrill  of  admiration,  they  gave  no  clue 
to  her  mystery.  The  hue  of  perfect  health  glowed 
upon  her  oval  face,  while  her  eyes  were  like  violets 
of  darkest  blue.  The  mouth  was  full,  yet  firm,  and 
unlike  Saville's,  which  was  chiefly  expressive  of  sen 
sibility  and  suggested  an  emotional  nature. 

Altogether,  she  seemed  a  creature  that  might 
haunt  a  painter's  or  a  poet's  fancy,  but  have  no 
right  or  real  existence  in  this  matter-of-fact  world. 
Saville  could  not  account  for  her,  and  still  his  won 
der  grew  when  she  exclaimed  in  tones  as  mellow  as 
the  notes  of  the  bird  she  addressed  : 

"  What  are  you  saying  there,  saucy  robin  ?  You're 
so  proud  of  your  scarlet  waistcoat,  you're  always 
putting  yourself  forward.  '  The  sun's  behind  the 
mountain,  and  it's  time  for  evening  songs,'  you  say. 
Well,  I  can  see  that  as  well  as  you.  Go  sing  to  your 
little  brown  wife  on  her  nest,  and  cease  your  '  mops 
and  mowes*  at  me. 

" '  I  can  sing  in  sunshine, 
I  can  sing  in  shadow, 
In  the  darkest  forest  glen, 
O'er  the  grassy  meadow, 
At  night,  by  day,  'tis  all  the  same, 
Song  is  praise  to  His  loved  name.'" 

Then  she  lifted  her  face  and  eyes  heavenward,  as 
if  from  an  impulse  of  grateful  devotion.  Her  white 
throat  grew  full,  as  in  slower  measure,  and  with  a 


A    CHILD    OF  NATURE.  21 

voice  that  seemed  to  fill  the  balmy  June  evening 
with  enchantment,  she  sang  as  a  hymn  those  exquis 
ite  words  from  Isaiah ; 

"  For  ye  shall  go  out  with  joy, 
And  be  led  forth  with  peace  ; 
The  mountains  and  the  hills 
Shall  break  forth  before  you  into  singing, 
And  all  the  trees  of  the  field  shall  clap  their  hands." 

Saville  was  in  a  maze  of  bewilderment  and  delight. 
Was  this  a  creature  of  earth  or  heaven  ?  A  fairy  or 
an  ideal  Indian  maiden,  the  perfect  flower  of  sylvan 
life  ?  All  his  classic  lore  flashed  upon  him.  Oreads 
and  dryads,  nymphs  of  the  mountain  and  forest 
tripped  through  his  brain  to  no  purpose.  She 
seemed  to  him  as  much  a  being  of  the  imagination 
as  any  of  them,  but  was  so  tantalizingly  near  and 
real,  that  he  could  see  the  blood  come  and  go 
in  her  face,  the  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom,  the 
changing  light  of  her  eyes  ;  and  yet  he  feared  almost 
to  breathe  lest  she  should  vanish.  Moreover,  a  pure 
English  accent,  and  familiarity  with  Shakspeare  and 
the  Bible,  savored  not  of  the  wigwam  nor  of  Greek 
mythology.  He  resolved  to  watch  her  till  she 
seemed  about  to  depart,  and  then  seek  to  intercept 
her,  and  by  questions  solve  the  enigma. 

The  girl  stood  quietly  for  a  moment  as  the  last 
sweet  notes  of  her  voice  were  repeating  themselves 
in  faint  echoes  from  the  hill-sides,  and  then  in  a  low 
tone  murmured, 

"  How  can  I  b£  lonely  when  God  makes  all  His 
creatures  my  playmates?" 

In  the  quick  transition  that  seemed  one  of  her 


22  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

characteristics,  she  soon  snatched  up  her  fishing* 
rod,  exclaiming: 

"  Old  Will  Shakspeare,  I  know  more  than  you." 
And  she  sang  again, 

"  '  I  know  a  bank '  where  the  strawberry  *  blows,' 
Where  the  red  ripe  strawberry  even  now  '  grows,' 
'  Quite  over-canopied  with  luscious  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk  roses  and  with  eglantine  ;' 
These  I  can  gather  long  before  the  night, 
And  carry  home  to  mother  '  with  dances  and  delight ' — 

with  dances  and  delight  " — and  as  she  repeated  this 
refrain,  she  lifted  her  slight  pole  like  a  wand  over 
her  head,  and  commenced  tripping  on  the  little 
grassy  plot  as  strange  and  fantastic  a  measure  as 
ever  wearied  Titania,  the  fairy  queen. 

There  was  another  low  cedar  nearer  to  her,  and 
Saville  determined  to  reach  this,  if  possible.  He 
did  so,  unperceived,  and  for  a  moment  gazed  with 
increasing  wonder  on  her  strange  beauty.  Though 
she  seemed  a  perfect  child  of  nature,  as  unconven 
tional  as  a  fawn  in  its  gambols,  there  was  not 
a  trace  of  coarseness  or  vulgarity  in  feature  or  ac 
tion. 

Suddenly  the  girl  ceased  her  improvised  dance, 
and  looked  around  as  with  a  vague  consciousness  of 
alarm.  It  was  evident  she  had  not  seen  nor  heard 
anything  distinctly,  but  as  if  possessing  an  instinct 
akin  to  that  of  other  wild  creatures  of  the  forest, 
she  felt  a  danger  she  could  not  see.  Or,  perhaps, 
it  was  the  influence  of  the  same  mysterious  power 
which  enables  us  in  a  crowded  hall  to  fix  our  eyes 


A    CHILD    OF  NATURE.  23 

and  thoughts  on  one  far  removed,  and,  by  something 
concerning  which  we  hide  our  ignorance  by  the  term 
"  magnetism,"  draw  their  eyes  and  thoughts  to 
ourselves. 

From  her  quivering  nostrils  and  dilating  eyes, 
Saville  saw  that  his  nymph  of  the  mountain,  wood, 
or  water — the  embodied  enigma  that  he  was  now 
most  curious  to  solve — was  on  the  eve  of  flight ; 
therefore,  cap  in  hand,  and  with  the  suave  grace  of 
one  familiar  with  the  salons  of  Paris,  he  stepped 
forth  from  his  concealment. 

But,  seemingly,  his  politeness  was  as  utterly  lost 
on  the  maiden  as  it  would  have  been  on  a  wild 
fawn,  or  the  heron  whose  plumage  mingled  with 
her  flowing  hair ;  for  like  an  arrow  she  darted  by 
him  up  the  steep  ascent,  with  a  motion  so  swift, 
so  seemingly  instantaneous,  that  he  stood  gaz 
ing  after  her  as  helplessly  as  if  a  bird  had  taken 
wing. 

It  was  not  until  she  had  gained  a  crag  far  above 
him,  and  there  paused  a  moment,  as  if  her  curiosity 
mastered  her  fears,  that  he  recovered  himself,  and 
cursed  his  stupid  slowness. 

But,  when  he  again  advanced  toward  her  and 
essayed  to  speak,  she  sprang  from  her  perch,  and 
was  lost  in  the  thick  copse-wood  of  the  bank.  Only 
her  light  hazel  fishing-rod,  and  the  line  with  the 
water-lily  bud,  remained  to  prove  that  the  whole 
scene  was  not  an  illusion,  a  piece  of  witchery  that 
comported  well  with  the  hour  and  the  romantic 
region. 

Correctly  imagining  that  though  invisible  she  might 


24  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

be  watching  him,  he  took  the  flower  and  put  it  in  his 
button-hole,  leaving  the  pole  on  the  bank;  then, 
taking  off  his  hat,  he  again  bowed  in  the  direction 
whither  she  had  fled,  with  his  hand  upon  his  heart, 
which  pantomime  he  hoped  contained  enough  sim 
plicity  and  nature  to  serve  in  place  of  the  words  she 
would  not  stay  to  hear. 

He  then  pushed  his  boat  from  the  shore  (for  he 
no  more  thought  of  following  her  than  he  would  a 
zephyr  that  had  gone  fluttering  through  the  leaves), 
and  permitted  it  to  drift  down  with  the  tide  as 
before. 

With  the  faint  hope  of  inducing  her  to  appear 
again,  he  took  up  a  flute,  of  which  he  had  become 
quite  a  master,  and  which  he  usually  carried 
with  him  on  his  solitary  expeditions,  and  com 
menced  playing  the  air  to  which  she  had  sung  the 
words, 

"  I  know  a  bank " 

He  was  rewarded  by  seeing  first  the  plumage  of 
the  snowy  heron,  then  the  graceful  outline  of  the 
maiden's  form  on  a  projecting  rock  where  now  frowns 
Battery  Knox.  He  again  doffed  his  hat,  and  turned 
the  prow  of  his  boat  in-shore,  at  which  she  van 
ished. 

Believing  now  that  she  was  too  shy  to  be  won  as 
an  acquaintance,  or  resolute  in  her  purpose  to  shun 
a  stranger,  he  pursued  his  journey  with  many  won 
dering  surmises.  But  partly  to  please  himself,  and 
with  some  hope  of  pleasing  her,  he  made  the  quiet 
June  evening  so  resonant  with  music,  that  even  the 


A    CHILD    OF  NATURE.  2$ 

birds  seemed  to  pause  and  listen  to  the  unwonted 
strains. 

Thus  he  kept  the  shores  echoing  and  re-echoing 
till  his  boat  was  gliding  under  a  precipitous  bluff, 
where  it  would  be  impossible  to  land.  Here  a  light 
northern  breeze  came  fluttering  down  the  river  with 
its  innumerable  retinue  of  ripples,  and  Saville  threw 
down  the  flute  and  hoisted  his  sail.  As  he  glided 
out  from  the  shadow  of  the  bluff  to  the  center  of  the 
river,  the  same  weird  and  beautiful  voice  resounded 
from  the  rocks  above  him,  with  a  sweetness  and  full 
ness  that  filled  the  whole  region  and  hour  with 
enchantment, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

Then  he  saw  the  plumage  of  the  snowy  heron 
waving  him  a  farewell,  and  distinguished  the  half- 
concealed  form  of  the  maiden.  The  northern  gale 
tossed  her  unconfined  hair  for  a  moment,  and  then 
the  vision  vanished. 

The  wind  freshened,  and  soon  the  water  was  foam 
ing  about  the  bow  of  his  boat.  Taking  up  his  flute, 
he  gave  as  a  responsive  farewell  the  simple  melody 
which  had  become  a  kind  of  signal  between  them, 
the  one  link  of  mutual  knowledge,  the  gossamer 
thread  that  might  draw  their  lives  closer  together. 

The  maiden,  who  no  longer  needed  the  sheltering 
foliage,  but  was  concealed  by  the  deepening  twilight, 
listened  till  the  faintest  echoes  had  died  away  in  the 
distance,  and  then,  quite  as  bewildered  and  full  of 
wonderment  as  the  hero  of  our  story,  slowly  retraced 
her  steps  toward  West  Point. 


26  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S    HEART. 

Saville  gazed  lingeringly  and  regretfully  back 
upon  the  landscape  that  grew  more  picturesque 
every  moment  in  the  uncertain  light,  and  felt  that 
he  was  leaving  a  fairy  land  for  one  of  stern  and 
bitter  realities. 


VERA    AND    HER    HOME. 


CHAPTER   II. 

VERA  AND   HER   HOME. 

WITH  slow  and  thoughtful  steps,  the  young 
girl  pursued  her  way,  finding  a  path  where, 
to  another,  there  would  have  been  only  a  tangled^ 
forest,  growing  among  steep  ridges  and  jagged 
rocks.  But  the  freedom  and  ease  with  which  she 
picked  her  way  with  almost  noiseless  tread,  might 
have  deepened  the  impression  that  in  some  occult 
manner  she  was  akin  to  the  wilderness  in  which  she 
seemed  so  much  at  home.  Having  crossed  a  rocky 
hill,  she  entered  a  grassy  foot-path,  and  soon  ap 
proached  a  dwelling  whence  gleamed  a  faint  light. 
Though  her  steps  apparently  gave  forth  no  sound, 
they  were  heard,  for  suddenly  innumerable  echoes 
filled  the.  silent  valley,  and  two  dogs,  that  must  have 
been  large  and  fierce,  judging  from  their  deep  bay 
ing,  came  bounding  toward  her.  With  a  low  laugh, 
she  said : 

"  Here's  '  much  ado  about  nothing.'  There, 
there,  Tiger  and  Bull;  two  precious  fools  you  have 
made  of  yourselves,  not  to  know  me." 

The  great  dogs  fawned  at  her  feet  and  licked  her 
hands,  and,  by  the  humblest  canine  apologies, 
sought  forgiveness  for  their  rude  greeting. 


2$  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

The  light  from  within  fell  upon  the  somewhat 
haggard  and  startled  face  of  a  man  who  stood  upon 
the  door-step  and  peered  out  into  the  darkness. 

"  It's  only  I,  father ;  "  and  in  a  moment  the  girl 
was  at  his  side. 

The  man  responded  but  slightly  to  her  caress, 
and,  entering  the  one  large  living-room  of  the  cot 
tage,  sat  down,  without  a  word,  in  its  most  shadowy 
corner,  seemingly  rinding  something  congenial  in  its 
gloom. 

"What  has  kept  you  so  late,  Vera?"  asked  a 
woman  who  was  taking  from  a  rude  cupboard  the 
slender  materials  of  the  evening  meal. 

"  I  was  watching  a  queer  little  sail-boat,  mother." 

"  Sail-boat,  sail-boat;  has  it  landed  near  us?" 
asked  the  man,  starting  up. 

"  No,  father.  I  watched  till  it  disappeared  down 
the  river,"  said  the  girl,  soothingly. 

"  That's  a  good  child.  Still  it  does  not  signify  ; 
no  one  could  have  any  business  with  me." 

But  the  slight  tremor  of  excitement  in  the  girl's 
tone  caused  the  mother  to  give  her  a  quick,  search 
ing  glance,  and  she  saw  that  something  unusual  had 
occurred. 

Vera  looked  smilingly  and  significantly  into  the 
pale,  anxious  face  turned  to  her,  and  her  glance 
said,  "  I  will  tell  you  all  by-and-by." 

The  woman  continued  her  tasks,  though  in  a 
manner  so  feeble  as  to  indicate  that  the  burden  of 
life  was  growing  too  heavy  to  be  borne  much  longer, 
while  Vera  assisted  her  with  the  quickness  of  youth 
and  the  deftness  of  experience. 


VERA    AND   HER    HOME. 


29 


From  a  little  "  lean-to  "  against  the  side  of  the 
house,  used  as  a  kitchen,  an  aged  negress  now  ap 
peared.  A  scarlet  handkerchief  formed  a  sort  of 
turban  above  her  wrinkled  visage.  She  was  tall, 
but  bent  with  years,  and  there  was  a  trace  of  weird 
dignity  in  her  bearing,  that  was  scarcely  in  keeping 
with  her  menial  position. 

"  Did  de  young  missis  bring  anyting  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Nothing,  Gula,"  said  the  young  girl,  lightly. 
"  The  unmannerly  fish  laughed  me  to  scorn.  Though 
I  tempted  them  above  with  a  lily  bud,  and  beneath 
with  a  wriggling  angle-worm,  not  one  would  come 
home  with  me.  They  were  afraid  of  you,  Gula." 

"  Den  dare's  nothin'  for  supper  but  milk  and 
bread,"  muttered  the  old  woman. 

"  It  will  suffice  for  me.  To-morrow  I  will  be  up 
with  the  lark,  and  have  a  dish  of  strawberries  for 
breakfast."  And  she  hummed  to  herself: 

"  I  know  the  bank  whereon  they  grow — 
A  thing  Will  Shakspeare  does  not  know." 

• 

The  jnother  looked  at  her  fondly,  but  her  smile 
ended  in  a  sigh.  With  her,  almost  everything  in  life 
was  now  ending  with  a  sigh. 

The  frugal  repast  being  ready,  the  father  was 
summoned,  but  before  he  would  leave  his  partial 
concealment,  he  asked  Vera  to  close  the  window- 
shutters,  so  as  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  any  one 
looking  in  from  the  outer  darkness.  The  man  seem 
ed  haunted  by  some  vague  fear  which  was  not  shared 
by  the  rest  of  the  family,  but  which,  in  his  case,  was 


30  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

tacitly  recognized  and  humored.  He  ate  his  supper 
hurrie'dly,  and  then  retired  again  to  his  dusky  corner, 
where  he  sat  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  silent, 
save  when  spoken  to  by  his  wife  and  daughter,  who 
evidently  tried  to  retain  him  as  part  of  the  family 
circle,  though  he  morbidly  shrank  within  himself. 

The  mother  and  daughter  were  left  alone  at  the 
table,  at  which  they  sat  even  after  Gula  had  removed 
to  the  kitchen  the  slight  remnants  of  the  meal.  A 
dip-candle  burned  dimly  between  them,  and  lighted 
up,  but  with  deep  contrasts  of  shadow,  two  remark 
able  faces — not  such  as  one  would  expect  to  find  in 
a  rude  log  cabin  of  the  wilderness  ;  for  the  uncertain 
rays  revealed  the  fact,  though  disguised  by  many  a 
dainty  rural  device,  that  the  walls  of  the  dwelling 
were  of  rough-hewn  logs.  But  the  homely  surround 
ings  only  brought  out  more  clearly  the  unmistakable 
refinement  of  the  faces  of  mother  and  daughter,  now 
turned  toward  each  other  in  a  subtle  interchange  of 
sympathy  that  scarcely  needed  words.  They  seemed 
to  have  formed  the  habit  of  communicating  with 
each  other  by  significant  glances  and  little  signs 
apparent  to  no  one  save  themselves,  and  there  exist 
ed  between  them  a  love  so  deep  and  absorbing  that 
it  was  ever  a  source  of  tranquil  pleasure  to  look  into 
each  other's  eyes.  This  silent  communion  was 
rendered  necessary  in  part,  because  there  was  much 
of  which  they  could  not  speak  in  the  presence  of  the 
father  and  husband  in  his  present  warped,  morbid 
condition  of  mind.  To  her  mother  Vera  embodied 
her  name,  and  was  truth  itself,  revealing,  like  her 
playmates  the  mountain  streams,  everything  in  her 


VERA    AND    HER    HOME.  31 

crystal  thoughts.  To  her  father  she  was  equally 
true,  but  was  so  through  a  system  of  loving  disguises 
and  concealments.  If  she  had  told  him  of  her  ad 
venture  of  the  afternoon  he  would  have  been  greatly 
excited,  and  sleep  banished  for  the  night. 

The  mother  saw  that  Vera  had  a  confidence  to 
give,  and  quietly  waited  until'  they  should  be  alone  ; 
and  as  she  looked  tenderly  upon  her  child,  her  pale, 
spiritual  face  might  have  realized  the  ideal  of  pure 
motherly  love.  As  such,  in  after  years,  Vera  re 
membered  it.  It  was  well  that  she  should  look  long 
and  fondly  upon  those  dear  features,  for  in  their  thin 
transparency  they  promised  soon  to  become  only  a 
memory. 

But  Vera  knew  nothing  of  death.  She  had  never 
seen  a  pallid,  rigid  human  face,  and  the  thought 
that  the  dear  face  before  her  could  ever  become 
such,  was  too  dreadful  to  have  even  entered  her 
mind. 

The  mother,  with  a  secret  and  growing  uneasiness, 
had  been  conscious  of  her  failing  powers.  Her  usual 
household  cares  became  daily  more  burdensome. 
She  panted  for  breath,  after  tasks  that  once  seemed 
light.  Her  rest,  instead  of  being  sweet  and  refresh 
ing,  was  broken  through  the  long  night  by  a  hacking 
cough,  which  the  bland  air  of  June  did  not  remove 
as  she  had  fondly  hoped.  But,  in  the  strange  delu 
sion  of  her  disease,  she  ever  expected  to  be  "  better 
in  a  few  days,"  and  she  never  had  the  courage  to 
blanch  the  joyous  face  of  Vera  with  the  vague  feai 
which  sometimes  found  entrance  to  her  mind  in 
spite  of  her  hopes.  The  malady  had  been  so  slow 


32  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

and  insidious  in  its  advances,  that  Vera  had  not 
noticed  the  daily  yet  almost  imperceptible  changes  ; 
but  old  Gula  sometimes  shook  her  head  ominously, 
though  she  said  nothing.  The  husband  was  too 
deeply  shadowed  by  one  oppressive  fear  to  have 
thought  for  anything  else ;  and  so  the  poor  exile  (for 
such  she  was)  unconsciously  to  herself  and  those  she 
loved,  daily  drew  nearer  to  the  only  home  where  the 
heart  is  at  rest. 

Upon  a  rustic  shelf  above  Vera's  head  were  two 
books  that  originally  had  been  quite  handsomely 
bound.  They  were  the  products  of  a  time  when 
things  were  made  to  last ;  and  yet  such  had  been 
their  vicissitudes  and  constant  use  that  they  looked 
old  and  worn.  They  were  the  only  books  Vera  had 
ever  seen.  They  had  been  the  story-books  of  her 
childhood,  and  long  before  she  could  read  them,  her 
mother  had  beguiled  her  by  the  hour  with  their 
marvelous  tales.  They  had  been  the  school-books 
in  which  she  had  conned  her  letters ;  and,  following 
her  mother's  pointing  ringer,  she  had  spelled  her  way 
through  them,  when  the  long  and  unpronounceable 
words  were  to  her  lisping  tongue  what  the  rugged 
boulders  around  their  home  were  to  her  little  feet. 
She  had  often  stumbled  over  both  ;  still  she  had 
learned  to  love  the  mossy  boulders  and  the  equally 
formidable  words,  and  the  latter  had  gradually  be 
come  stepping-stones  to  her  thoughts.  These  books 
were  now  yearly  developing  for  her  deeper  and  richer 
meanings,  and  were  having  no  small  part  in  the 
formation  of  her  character.  The  gilt  letters  on  their 
backs  were  not  so  faded  and  worn  but  that  the  titles 


VERA    AND    HER    HOME. 


33 


could  still  be  read— the  "  Plays  of  William  Shak- 
speare,"  and  "  Holy  Bible." 

The  former  had  been  given  to  Vera's  mother  in 
Dther  and  happier  days,  and  in  another  land,  by  the 
nan,  now  but  a  wreck  of  the  handsome,  spirited 
youth,  who  then  gave  glances  and  words  with  the 
gift,  which  she  valued  more  than  the  book.  She  had 
given  him  the  Bible  in  return,  and  he  formerly  had 
read  it  somewhat  for  her  sake,  though  seldom  for  its 
own.  The  Bible  was  much  the  smaller  and  plainer 
volume,  and  suggested  that  the  purse  of  the  donor 
might  not  have  been  as  large  as  her  love.  In  the 
sudden  and  dire  emergency  which  made  them  exiles, 
these  two  gifts  of  affection  had  been  hastily  snatched 
among  the  few  other  things  they  had  been  able  to 
take,  in  the  confused  and  hurried  moment  of 
departure. 

At  a  sign  from  her  mother,  Vera  took  down  this 
Bible,  and  drawing  the  failing  candle  nearer,  read  a 
few  verses  from  the  I4th  chapter  of  St.  John,  com 
mencing,  "  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled."  At  the 
close  of  each  day,  for  many  sad  and  anxious  years, 
the  poor  woman  had  tried  to  sustain  her  faith  by 
these  divine,  reassuring  words.  They  were  read 
first,  not  only  for  her  own  support,  but  in  the  hope 
that  they  might  have  a  soothing,  calming  effect  upon 
the  disquieted  mind  of  her  husband.  To  Vera,  also, 
she  believed  that  they  might  eventually  become  a 
legacy  of  hope  and  strength.  After  they  were  read, 
some  other  passage  was  also  chosen. 

The  mother  had  opened  the  kitchen  door  that 
Gula  might  hear,  if  she  would,  since  she  never  could 

3* 


34 


NEAR    TO    NATURE'S    HEART. 


be  persuaded  to  be  present  at  the  family  altar.  Gula 
had  been  stolen  from  her  African  home,  where,  as 
she  once  hinted  in  a  moment  of  anger,  she  had 
possessed  some  rude  and  savage  kind  of  royalty,  and 
since  that  time  she  had  suffered  cruelty  and  wrongs 
without  stint  from  those  who  called  themselves 
Christians;  thus  she  naturally  chose  to  remain  a 
pagan. 

As  Vera  read  the  sacred  words,  the  mother's  face, 
where  she  sat,  a  little  back  from  the  light,  was  sweet 
and  shadowy  enough  to  be  that  of  a  guardian  spirit. 

The  corner  in  which  the  father  remained  had 
grown  so  dark  that  only  the  gleam  of  his  restless 
eyes  could  be  seen.  Vera's  voice  was  sweet,  low,  and 
reverent.  It  was  not  a  form,  but  a  heartfelt  service 
in  which  she  was  leading,  and  one  that  she  knew  to 
be  dear  to  her  mother. 

She  made  a  pretty  picture,  with  the  dim  candle 
lighting  up  her  classic  profile  and  a  bit  of  her  gold 
en  hair.  All  the  rest  was  in  partial  and  sugges 
tive  shadow. 

After  the  lesson  of  the  day  had  been  read,  they 
sat  a  few  moments  in  prayerful  silence.  With  the 
shrinking  timidity  which  some  women  find  it  impos 
sible  to  overcome,  this  Christian  wife  had  learned  to 
pray  unceasingly  in  her  heart,  but  could  never  ven 
ture  upon  outspoken  words.  Her  nature  was  gen 
tleness  itself,  and  strong  only  in  its  power  to  cling 
with  unselfish,  unfearing  tenacity  to  those  she  loved. 
Had  her  husband  been  condemned  to  suffer  any 
form  of  death,  her  meek  spirit  would  have  uttered 
no  protest,  but  only  force  could  have  prevented  her 


VERA    AND    HER  HOME.  35 

from  sharing  his  fate.  If,  by  interposing  her  own 
life  she  could  save  her  daughter's,  she  would  give  it 
up  so  naturally  and  instinctively  that  the  thought 
of  self-sacrifice  would  not  even  occur  to  her.  Years 
before,  she  had  renounced,  for  the  sake  of  her  love, 
everything  saVe  honor;  and  though  knowing  that 
exile  and  soon  death  itself  would  result,  she  never 
considered  the  possibility  of  any  other  course,  but  m 
resignation  accepted  what  she  regarded  as  her  inevi 
table  lot.  Where  she  loved  most,  with  the  certainty 
of  gravitation,  her  steps  would  follow,  while  the 
power  remained.  She  was  one  whom  the  world 
would  call  weak,  but  whose  strength  God  would 
honor,  because  possessing  in  her  humble  sphere  His 
loftiest  attribute,  patient,  all-enduring  love. 

Before  seeking  her  own  little  nest,  Vera  went  out 
to  speak  to  the  old  negress,  whom  she  found  sitting 
on  a  low  door-step,  smoking  her  pipe. 

"  Art  lonely,  Gula?" 

"  No,  chile,  I'se  got  past  dat.  Dare's  lots  talkin' 
to  ole  Gula." 

"  Why,  I  hear  nothing  save  the  whippoorwills, 
and  the  frogs  in  the  marsh." 

"  I  doesn't  hear  dem.  De  voices  dat  come  to  me 
come  from  far  back  o'  dese  mountains.  I  isn't 
lonely  any  mo'." 

"  How  queer!  "  said  Vera  musingly.  "But  you 
were  lonely  once,  Gula?" 

"  Yes,  chile ;  for  nigh  on  twenty  summer  and 
winter  my  heart  was  a-breakin'.  I  was  so  homesick 
like,  dat  I  wanted  to  die  ebery  minute.  Den  I  died. 
My  heart  was  jus  a  heavy  stun  in  my  bres' ;  only  my 


36  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

body  was  kind  o'  half  alive  so  it  could  work  when 
dey  whipped  it.  But  de  heart  inside  didn't  tink 
nuffin,  nor  feel  nuffin,  nor  know  nuffin.  On  a 
sudden,  one  night,  I  kind  o'  woke  up  and  heerd 
voices  a  callin'  me  to  run,  and  I  got  up  and  run, 
and  trabbled  for  days  and  nights  till  I  got  here  ; 
den  de  voices  tole  me  to  stop.  And  I'se  a  stoppin' 
and  a  waitin'  to  see  what  de  voices  say  nex." 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  said  Vera  wonderingly. 
.     "  No,  chile,  you  needn't  try." 

"Where  do  these  voices  come  from?" 

"  From  way  back  o'  dese  hills — from  fafder  dan 
de  great  water  whar  dem  floatin'  miseries,  dey  call 
ships,  go — from  whar  de  sun  shine  hotter  dan  it  did 
to-day,  all  de  time.  Oh,  dis  poor  ole  heart's  nebber 
been  warm  since  dey  carried  me,  screamin',  on  de 
floatin'  misery.  Go  to  bed,  chile,  go  to  bed;  ole 
Gula  hopes  you'se  body '11  neber  be  alive  arter 
your  heart's  dead." 

"  Poor  old  Gula,"  said  Vera,  in  a  voice  so  gentle, 
so  sympathetic,  that  it  would  have  moved  the 
stoniest  nature.  "  I'm  very  sorry  for  you.  *  Let  not 
your  heart  be  troubled,'  Gula." 

The  old  woman  was  touched  by  the  young  girl's 
compassion  ;  but  she  had  a  strange,  rugged  pride, 
that  prevented  her  from  ever  receiving  openly  what 
still  was  balm  in  secret.  Probably  the  voices  that 
had  induced  the  fugitive  to  stay  at  the  humble  cot 
tage  were  those  of  her  present  mistress  and  Vera, 
speaking  in  the  long  unheard  accents  of  kindness, 
though  in  the  poor  creature's  disordered  fancy  they 
had  blended  with  those  she  imagined  coming  from 


VERA    AND    HER    HOME.  37 

her  old  tropical-  home.  Therefore,  the  roughness 
with  which  she  said, 

"  Dare,  dare,  chile,  none  o'  dat,  don't  keep  you  se 
mudder  waitin' ;  go  to  bed,"  was  only  assumed  to 
disguise  the  sudden  relenting  which  usually  takes 
place  when  the  flintiest  heart  is  touched  by  the 
potent  wand  of  kindness. 

"Good  night,  Gula,"  said  Vera ;  "among  your 
voices  you  shall  always  hear  mine:  and  I  hope  it 
won't  be  cross  often  ;  "  and  she  followed  her  mother, 
who  had  already  gone  on  before  to  her  child's  sleep 
ing  apartment. 

It  was  as  strange  a  little  nook  as  one  could  ima 
gine  ;  and  if  Vera  had  been  a  nymph  of  the  moun 
tains,  as  her  appearance  had  suggested  to  Saville, 
this  resting-place  would  have  been  in  harmony. 
The  rude  cottage  had  been  built  at  the  sloping  base 
of  the  rocky  height  crowned  in  later  years  with  the 
frowning  walls  of  Fort  Putnam.  Just  above  the 
cabin  on  the  southern  side,  a  huge  crag  projected  so 
far  from  the  rocky  steep  as  to  form  a  natural  shelter 
or  sort  of  cave.  This  little  niche  had  been  enlarged 
by  excavation,  and  the  granite  eaves  extended  by 
rough-hewn  boards,  so  as  to  form  quite  a  roomy 
apartment,  which  Vera  and  her  mother  had  dis 
guised  into  as  dainty  a  rural  bower  as  any  grotto  of 
the  Grecian  nymphs.  It  was  connected  with  the 
main  living-room  of  the  cabin  by  a  covered  way 
securely  thatched  and  protected  at  the  sides  by 
heavy  logs,  fastened  in  the  securest  manner.  In 
deed  the  entire  dwelling  had  been  built  with  al 
most  the  strength  of  a  fortress,  and  Vera's  father 


38  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

seemed  to  find  a  growing  satisfaction  in  strength* 
ening  its  various  parts  with  stone  and  wood. 
The  brief  ascent  to  her  "  nest" — as  the  young  girl 
called  it — was  made  by  stone  steps.  When  her 
mother  grew  feeble,  Vera  brought  home  a  slender 
grapevine  that  she  had  found  swinging  from  a  lofty 
forest-tree,  and  stretched  it  from  her  door  to  that  of 
the  living-room.  By  laying  hold  of  this,  the  ascent 
could  be  made  with  greater  ease.  A  stout  cord 
passed  along  the  roof,  so  that  if  anything  happened, 
summons  or  alarm  could  be  given  instantly. 
But  though  the  poor  man  who  arranged  all  these 
precautions  seemed  burdened  with  an  increasing 
dread,  the  years  had  passed,  and  they  had  been 
unmolested  in  their  wilderness  retreat. 

The  mother  placed  the  candle  on  a  little  bureau, 
and  sat,  panting  from  her  climb,  on  the  edge  of 
Vera's  couch.  The  daughter  drew  a  bench  for 
ward,  and  dropping  on  it,  leaned  her  arms  on  her 
mother's  lap  and  looked  up  into  her  face  as  she  did 
when  a  little  child.  Indeed,  in  her  guileless  inno 
cence  and  ignorance  of  the  world  from  which  she 
had  ever  been  secluded,  she  was  still  a  child,  though 
fully  sixteen. 

"  Now,  mother,  you  have  been  working  too  hard 
again  to-day,"  she  said  reproachfully.  "  See  how 
tired  you  are." 

"  No,  dear  —  I  am  only  a  little  breathless  —  from 
climbing  to  your  nest.  I  get  out  of  breath  so  easily 
of  late.  Now  tell  me  what  has  happened." 

Vera  described  her  adventure  of  the  afternoon, 
which  in  her  tranquil  life  was  a  notable  event.  She 


VERA    AND    HER    HOME.  35 

dwelt  long  and  somewhat  admiringly  upon  the  stran 
ger's  appearance  and  manner,  especially  his  act  of 
putting  the  water-lily  bud  in  his  button-hole. 

"  If  he  loves  flowers,  mother,  he  can't  be  bad." 

But  it  was  upon  the  notes  of  his  flute  that  she 
descanted  most  enthusiastically.  "  And  do  you 
know,  mother,  he  played  the  same  air  that  I  had 
been  singing,  and  which  you  taught  me  years  -ago. 
But  he  must  have  thought  me  wild  as  a  hawk." 

"  No,  dear,  as  timid  as  a  dove." 

"Well,  I  was  greatly  startled  at  first.  When  I 
got  a  good  look  at  him  I  was  not  so  much  afraid. 
But  you,  and  especially  father,  have  so  often  warned 
me  against  making  acquaintances.  You  don't  think 
I  was  rude,  now  ?  " 

"  No,  dear,  no  more  than  the  birds  that  take  wing 
when  you  come  too  near." 

"  The  birds  are  getting  very  presuming,  mother; 
they  either  think  that  I  am  one  of  them  or  not  worth 
minding.  They  only  cock  their  little  heads  on  one 
side  and  give  me  a  saucy  look,  and  then  go  about 
their  business  just  as  if  I  were  not  near." 

"  They  know  and  do  not  fear  their  friends,"  said 
the  mother  abstractedly,  "  and  you  have  been  their 
harmless  playmate  so  long  that  they  know  all  about 
you."  And  the  poor  woman  gave  a  long  sigh. 

*'  Now  what  does  that  mean,  mother?  ' 

"  That  you  cannot  always  have  such  innocent  and 
harmless  companions.  You  are  growing  up,  Vera. 
You  cannot  always  be  a  little  wild-flower  of  the 
woods.  You  must  make  acquaintances  ere  long.  It 
is  needful  that  you  should.  But  how  are  you  to 


40  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

make  them  ?  Where  are  you  to  find  them  ?  We 
are  strangely  situated.  I  wish  we  had  some  good 
neighbors,  and  your  father  did  riot  feel  as  he  does." 

"  Ought  I  then  to  have  stayed  and  spoken  to  this 
young  man  ?  " 

"  No,  darling,  you  did  right.  He  was  an  utter 
stranger.  And  yet  such  are  all  the  world.  The 
ordinary  ties  which  unite  us  to  our  fellow  crea 
tures  seem  utterly  broken,  and  our  isolation  is 
so  complete  that  I  see  no  escape  from  it.  For 
myself  I  do  not  mind  it.  I  am  content.  But  for 
your  sake,  Vera,  I  do  indeed  wish  it  were  other 
wise." 

"  I  too  am  content,  mother.  The  woods  are  full 
of  playmates  for  me,  and  we  chatter  away  to  each 
other  as  merrily  as  the  day  is  long.  We  are  begin 
ning  to  understand  each  other  too.  Do  you  know, 
mother,  that  the  sounds  of  nature  seem  a  sort  of  lan 
guage  which  I  am  fast  learning?  I  went  out  on  the 
hills  the  other  day  after  the  shower,  and  found  a 
brook  and  a  brown-thrush  singing  a  duet  together, 
and  I  sat  down  and  mocked  them  till  I  learned 
what  they  were  saying " — and  in  almost  perfect 
mimicry  she  first  gave  the  gurgling  murmur  of 
the  stream  and  then  the  mellow  whistle  of  the 
thrush." 

"  You  are  a  strange  child,  Vera.  But  what  did 
the  brook  and  bird  say?  I  do  not  understand  their 
language." 

"  Why,  it's  plain  as  can  be.  They  said,  '  Cheei 
up,  Vera.  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.  After 
the  shower  comes  the  sunshine.'  What  else  could 


VERA    AND    HER    HOME.  41 

they  mean  ?  There  was  the  brook  sparkling  in  the 
sunlight,  and  singing  the  louder  for  the  shower  ;  and 
there  was  the  little  bird,  which  neither  the  lightning 
nor  the  rain  had  hurt." 

Tears  came  into  the  mother's  eyes,  and  kissing 
her  child,  she  said: 

"  Good  night,  Vera ;  you  are  so  innocent  that  God 
talks  with  you,  as  He  did  with  Adam  and  Eve  in 
the  garden." 

The  mother  returned  to  the  main  room,  which 
was  also  used  as  a  sleeping  apartment.  Gula  had 
already  retired  by  some  rude  steps  to  her  loft  over 
head. 

With  the  dawn  of  the  next  day,  the  mother  was 
awakened  by  Vera's  receding  voice,  mingling  with 
the  songs  of  her  music-masters,  the  birds,  and  knew 
that  she  had  gone  for  the  promised  strawberries. 
Before  very  long,  she  returned  with  an  oddly  con 
structed  basket  of  broad  leaves,  heaped  up  with  the 
daintiest  fruit  of  the  year,  and  a  moment  later  the 
cabin  was  filled  with  therr  wild  aroma,  as,  with  scar 
let  fingers,  Vera  quickly  prepared  them  for  break 
fast. 

11  How  kind  it  was  of  you  to  get  us  these  ber 
ries,"  said  her  mother.  "  I  thought  I  had  lost 
my  appetite  altogether,  but  these  taste  so  good 
that  I  must  be  better.  Perhaps  they  will  make  me 
well." 

The  flush  of  pleasure  that  came  into  Vera's  face 
vied  with  the  ruby  fruit,  and  she  said,  joyously : 

"  You  shall  have  them,  mother,  as  long  as  there  is 
one  to  be  found  in  the  shadiest  nook." 


42  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

The  light  of  day  now  revealed  clearly  the  charac 
ter  of  their  abode,  which,  in  its  exterior,  did  not 
differ  greatly  from  the  ordinary  log  cabin  of  the 
frontier.  There  had  evidently  been  an  effort  to 
make  it  exceedingly  strong,  and  on  every  side  were 
loop-holes,  through  which  could  be  passed  ^he  muz 
zle  of  a  rifle. 

But  the  usual  bareness  and  unsightliness  of  these 
primitive  dwellings  had  been  quite  removed  by 
festoons  of  the  American  woodbine  (or  ivy)  which 
Vera  had  planted  at  the  corners,  and  trained  albng 
the  eaves  and  to  the  very  ridge.  There  were 
also  attempts  at  flower-beds,  in  which  she  had 
sought  to  tame  some  of  her  wild  favorites  of  the 
woods. 

But  the  interior  was  an  interesting  study,  from 
the  effort  of  refinement,  everywhere  manifest,  to 
triumph  over  the  rudest  materials.  Such  of  the 
furniture  as  had  been  bought,  was  strong  and  plain, 
and  had  evidently  been'  selected  from  motives  of 
economy.  This  had  been  added  to  and  supple 
mented  as  far  as  the  ingenuity  of  the  inmates  per 
mitted,  and  on  every  side  were  seen  pretty  little 
things  that  were  not  childish,  and  yet  would  please 
a  child. 

Autumn  leaves,  still  brilliant,  which  Vera  had 
pressed,  with  great  pains,  between  dry  leaves  pre 
served  for  the  purpose,  festooned  the  unsightly  walls, 
producing  an  effect  that  gave  the  young  girl  more 
content  than  Gobelin  tapestry  gives  to  its  princely 
possessors.  Mingling  with  these  festoons  were  but 
ton-balls,  cut  the  preceding  autumn  from  the  plane 


VERA    AND    HER    HOME. 


43 


tree,  and  bright  red  berries.  In  one  corner  was  a 
huge  hornet's  nest,  suspended  from  the  branch 
where  its  savage  little  architects  had  built  it  the 
year  before,  and  whose  construction  Vera  had 
watched  with  great  interest,  until,  in  the  fall,  the 
paper  citadel,  that  an  army  would  hesitate  to  attack, 
was  evacuated ;  then  she  had  carried  it  home  as  a 
trophy.  But  she  found  that  it  still  contained  a 
small  garrison,  which  occasioned  no  little  commotion 
as  they  recovered  from  their  torpor  in  the  warmth 
of  the  room.  On  a  spray  beside  this  fortress,  w'as 
placed,  for  contrast,  an  abode  of  peace — a  humming 
bird's  tiny  nest.  In  place  of  prosaic  pegs  and 
hooks,  the  antlers  of  the  stag  were  fastened  here 
and  there,  and  served  many  a  useful  purpose. 
Rustic  brackets,  and  a  cross  of  gray  bark,  with  a 
mossy  base,  divested  the  apartment  of  all  appear 
ance  of  the  squalid  poverty  that  often  characterizes 
the  pioneer's  cabin. 

But  the  principal  feature  was  the  wide  stone  fire 
place  into  which  for  many  years  Vera  could  pass 
without  stooping,  and  in  the  corner  of  which  she  still 
sat  on  winter  evenings,  reading  by  the  light  of  the 
blazing  fire,  her  inexhaustible  storybook,  the  "  Plays 
of  William  Shakspeare."  Over  the  hearth  was  a  great 
iron  crane ;  and  it  was  a  proud  day  for  Vera  when 
she  learned  to  relieve  her  mother  by  swinging  it  in 
and  out,  deftly  hanging  thereon  the  sooty  kettle, 
without  smirching  her  hands  or  dress.  Above  a  rude 
mantel,  on  which  Vera  had  placed  some  odd  little 
ornaments  gathered  in  her  rambles,  were  suspended 
a  long  rifle  of  very  fine  workmanship,  and  a  silver- 


44  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

mounted  fowling-piece,  which  the  exiles  had 
brought  with  them,  rightly  estimating  their  value 
when  seeking  a  refuge  in  the  wilderness.  The 
shot-gun  was  light  but  strong,  and  of  exquisite 
finish,  and  had  in  other  days  brought  down  many  a 
pheasant  in  English  parks.  It  carried  just  as  truly 
now,  and  Vera  had  learned  to  be  almost  as  unerring 
in  its  use  as  her  father.  In  consequence,  a  plump 
partridge  frequently  graced  their  board  that  too  often 
was  meagre  enough.  For  a  large  part  of  the  year, 
game  was  their  principal  food,  as  her  father  supported 
his  family  by  hunting  and  trapping.  But  of  late  he 
had  grown  so  moody  and  uncertain  in  his  actions,  that 
for  days  he  would  sit  in  his  shadowy  corner  brooding 
over  some  dark  secret  of  the  past.  It  would  then 
devolve  on  Vera  alone  to  supply  the  needs  of  the 
household,  and  at  times  the  poor  child's  heart  was 
heavy,  as  weary  and  discouraged  she  returned  in  the 
evening  only  to  report  her  ill-success.  Then  her 
father  would  rouse  up  as  if  his  manhood  were  strug- 
glittg  against  the  paralysis  creeping  over  his  mind,  and 
he  would  be  more  like  his  former  self.  But  as  Vera 
grew  older,  and  more  acquainted  with  the  habits  and 
haunts  of  game,  and  learned  in  what  waters  to  drop 
her  line  successfully,  she  became  more  self-reliant 
and  confident  that  she  could  at  least  maintain  a 
supply  of  food  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst.  On  days 
when  the  man's  mind  was  most  unclouded,  he  would, 
at  his  wife's  solicitation,  take  the  skins  and  products 
of  the  chase  to  some  village  down  the  river,  and 
barter  them  for  such  things  as  were  needed.  A  little 
of  the  hoard  of  gold  which  they  had  brought  with 


VRRA    AND    HER    HOME.  4$ 

them  still  remained,  and   was  kept  for  some  emer 
gency  of  the  future. 

Thus  the  years  passed  on,  and  Vera  was  ceasing 
to  be  a  child  in  appearance,  though  still  a  child  in 
guileless  simplicity,  and  content  with  the  pleasures 
and  duties  which  had  rilled  her  time  thus  far. 


46  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HE  A  AT. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    ICONOCLASTS. 

THE  northern  breeze  caused  Saville's  boat  to 
glide  rapidly  through  the  looming  shadows  of 
the  lower  Highlands,  and  in  comparatively  brief  time 
lights  glimmered  invitingly  from  the  village  of  Peeks- 
kill,  which  was  situated  at  the  head  of  a  wide  bay  upon 
the  eastern  shore.  Here  he  decided  to  seek  refresh 
ment  and  spend  the  night,  intending  to  pursue  his 
homeward  journey  the  following  morning. 

The  episode  of  the  afternoon  had  formed  a  pleas 
ing  but  temporary  diversion  to  the  thoughts  it  had 
interrupted  ;  but  now,  with  increasing  power  to  pain 
and  agitate,  they  came  trooping  back.  In  the  con 
sciousness  of  solitude  and  in  the  enshrouding  dark 
ness,  he  made  less  effort  at  self-control.  His  features 
were  distorted  by  contending  emotions,  and  he  often 
gave  vent  to  passionate  exclamations.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  a  painful  question  was  pressing  upon  him 
for  immediate  solution,  and  that  the  results  of  his 
action  in  any  case  would  be  very  serious. 

But  by  the  time  he  reached  the  rude  wharf  he 
regained  his  self-command,  and  having  moored  his 
boat,  sought  a  dwelling  which  combined  the  character 
of  farm-house  and  tavern.  Here  he  received  a  wel- 


THE    ICONOCLASTS. 


47 


come  that  was  but  in  part  professional,  for  in  those 
days  of  limited  travel,  a  stranger  was  an  event,  and 
a  guest  in  reality  as  well  as  in  name,  being  often 
made  much  of,  and  becoming  an  object  of  absorbing 
interest,  it  might  be  added  also,  of  curiosity,  to  his 
entertainers. 

Saville  found  the  little  inn  already  in  a  state  of 
excitement  and  bustle  over  the  arrival  of  an  old 
acquaintance  of  his  own,  a  wealthy,  pleasure-loving 
young  gentleman  from  the  city  below,  who  was  off 
on  a  fishing  excursion,  and  who  eagerly  sought 
to  gain  Saville  as  a  companion. 

"  What  is  the  news  from  the  army  before  Boston  ?  " 
asked  Saville,  gloomily. 

"  '  The  army  before  Boston'  be  hanged,  and  the 
army  in  Boston  also.  I  could  not  sit  down  to  dinner 
but  a  fire-brand  of  a  patriot  would  pluck  one 
sleeve,  and  demand,  '  Are  you  for  Liberty  ?  '  and  an 
ancient  fossil  who  had  brushed  against  a  duke,  or 
mayhap  a  duchess,  would  pluck  the  other  sleeve, 
and  querulously  question,  *  Are  you  not  for  the 
King?'  It  was  in  vain  that  I  anathematized  both, 
and  said,  '  No,  I'm  for  dinner.'  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  peace  down  there,  unless  you  are  ranting  on 
one  side  or  the  other.  So  I  snatched  my  fishing 
tackle,  and  showing  a  clean  pair  of  heels,  am  here 
among  the  mountains.  It's  a  confounded  poor 
world  for  a  man  to  enjoy  himself  in.  There  are 
always  two  parties  in  it  bound  to  devour  each  other, 
and  if  you  won't  raven  on  one  side  or  the  other, 
they'll  both  turn  irr  and  rend  you.  I  don't  care 
whether  the  laws  are  made  in  Philadelphia  or 


48  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

London,  if  they  will  only  let  me  alone.  There,  I'm 
through  with  the  accursed  squabbles  of  the  hour. 
I'm  here  to  get  rid  of  them,  and  intend  for  the  next 
few  days  to  forget  the  existence  of  both  Parliament 
and  Congress.  So  come  with  me,  and  keep  out  of 
purgatory  as  long  as  you  can." 

In  spite  of  his  prolonged  mental  conflict,  Saville 
still  felt  himself  unequal  to  solve  the  question  that 
burdened  him  ;  and  so  to  gain  time  and  distract 
his  thoughts,  he  complied  with  his  friend's  wish. 

On  the  following  morning  they  started,  equipped 
for  the  sport.  It  was  the  Sabbath,  but  in  Saville's 
estimation,  the  day  was  no  more  sacred  than  would 
be  a  Decadi  of  the  coming  French  Revolution.  He 
had  lived  in  infidel  France  sufficiently  long  to  regard 
the  Sabbath  as  a  relic  of  superstition.  He  was  a 
disciple  of  the  "  New  Philosophy,"  and  had  faith  in 
naught- save  man,  and  man  was  a  law  unto  himself. 

But  the  sport  which  completely  absorbed  his 
companion  dragged  heavily  with  Saville,  and  after  a 
few  days  he  returned  to  his  boat,  resolving  to  put 
off  his  decision  no  longer  ;  so  the  latter  part  of  the 
week  saw  him  again  beating  southward  against  the 
wind  with  many  a  long  tack,  as  the  river  broadened 
before  him. 

Saville's  position  was  a  trying  one,  and  yet  not 
peculiar  in  that  day  when  the  plowshare  of  division 
ran,  not  only  through  communities,  social  circles 
and  churches,  but  also  through  families,  severing  the 
closest  ties.  In  order  that  his  present  circumstances 
and  character  may  be  better  understood,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  take  a  brief  glance  into  the  past. 


THE    ICONOCLASTS. 


49 


Theron  Saville  combined  both  the  French  and 
Dutch  elements  in  his  parentage.  On  his  father's 
side  he  came  from  that  grand  old  Huguenot  stock 
which  has  largely  leavened  for  good  the  Ameri 
can  character.  He  thus  had  inherited  a  legacy  of 
prayer  and  sacred  memories  from  his  ancestry,  and 
might  if  he  would,  receive  the  blessing  which  de 
scends  to  children's  children  :  a  "  covenant-keeping 
God "  would  faithfully  "seek  to  reclaim  him  from 
evil.  But  he  had  utterly  abandoned  the  faith  of  his 
fathers,  and  was  now  an  open  unbeliever. 

His  moral  state  was  the  natural  result  of  the 
influences  he  had  fallen  under  during  his  education. 
In  accordance  with  a  custom  quite  common  among 
patrician  families  in  colonial  days,  he  had  been  sent 
to  Europe  to  finish  his  studies.  After  a  few  years 
at  an  English  university  he  went  to  Paris*to  acquire 
his  profession,  that  of  military  and  civil  engineering. 
But  his  tastes  did  not  lead  in  the  direction  of  exact 
and  practical  science,  and  he  appreciated  the  French 
opera  far  more  than  French  roads  and  fortifications. 
But  it  was  the  new  and  skeptical  literature  of  that 
chaotic  age  that  chiefly  fascinated  him.  The  bril 
liant  theorists  and  iconoclasts  who  were  then,  with 
jest  and  infinite  wit,  recklessly  sapping  the  founda 
tions  of  the  slowly  built  structures  of  human  belief, 
of  social  custom,  and  of  established  government, 
seemed  to  him  the  heroes  of  the  world.  He,  as 
littfe  as  they,  foresaw  the  crashing  ruin  for  which 
they  were  preparing.  Bigoted  violence  had  suc 
ceeded  only  too  well  in  stamping  out  and  exiling 
the  Huguenot  element,  and  what  then  passed  for 
3 


50  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

Jsligion  in  France,  was  such  a  wretched  imposition 
as  to  be  despised  even  by  its  consecrated  priests. 
Social  distinctions  were  arbitrary  and  unnatural. 
Etiquette  ruled  in  the  place  of  fidelity  and  principle, 
and  behind  this  tinsel  mask  gross  license  rioted. 
Government  had  become  simply  the  oppression  of 
the  many  by  the  few — an  organized  system  to  rob 
the  people  that  the  titled  might  indulge  in  un 
bounded  extravagance.  The  corner-stone,  which  is 
the  family,  with  its  sacred  and  guarded  rights,  had 
crumbled,  and  the  whole  social  and  political  fabric 
was  consequently  tottering  in  inevitable  weakness. 
The  character  of  the  times  made  it  far  easier  to  scoff 
and  strike  at  all  institutions  that  should  be  sacred 
than  to  reform  them ;  and  the  leading  minds  of  the 
day  were  great  only  in  their  genius  for  satire  and 
innovation*  But  it  was  the  fearful  degeneracy  in 
the  institutions  themselves  that  gave  point  to  the 
sarcasm,  and  it  was  their  crumbling  weakness  that 
made  blows,  which  now  seem  puny,  then  to  appear 
herculean. 

Young  Saville,  unschooled  by  experience,  had 
just  the  temperament  to  be  carried  away  by  the 
railing  and  irreverent  spirit  of  the  age.  Naturally 
visionary,  enthusiastic,  and  gifted  with  far  more 
imagination  than  judgment,  he  reveled  in  the 
"  Atheistic  Philosophy,"  and  exulted  over  it  as  the 
groundwork  of  a  new  and  better  order  of  things, 
Voltaire  enchained  him  by  his  boundless  wit. 
Diderot,  and  even  Helvetius  with  his  gross,  materi 
alistic  theory,  that  sensation  originates  all  that  there 
is  in  man,  became  his  masters,  while  in  political 


THE   ICONOCLASTS.  51 

creed  he  was  a  disciple  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. 
Liberty,  which  was  of  an  impossible  kind— liberty, 
which  from  the  absence  of  safeguards  and  founda 
tions  must,  and  in  fact  did,  degenerate  into  the 
wildest  license,  became  his  dream ;  and  he  hoped  to 
become  eventually  an  apostle  of  this  French  ideal 
of  freedom,  in  his  own  land. 

Yet  when  the  time  came  for  Saville  to  return  to 
New  York,  he  had  not  become  utterly  vitiated  by 
the  evil  influences  which  were  then  demoralizing  a 
nation.  Something  in  the  'old  Huguenot  blood 
and  in  his  early  training  still  remained  in  his  nature 
as  a  germ  that  might  be  developed  into  healthful 
growth.  He  was  not  false,  though  unrestrained  by 
religion,  or  even  by  what  was  regarded  as  morality 
in  his  own  land ;  he  accepted  the  world's  code  of 
honor  and  unlike  the  world  in  which  he  had  been 
living,  was  true  to  it.  His  word  bound  him  ;  and 
though  capable  of  very  wrong  action,  he  shrank 
from  anything  mean,  base,  or  ungrateful.  He  was 
not  coldly,  selfishly,  and  deliberately  depraved  at 
heart.  He  scoffed  with  his  favorite  author,  Voltaire, 
not  at  what  he  believed  sacred,  but  at  what,  in  that 
false  age,  pretended  to  sacredness,  and  was  in  fact 
a  solemn  and  venerable  farce.  The  truth  back  of 
this,  which  had  been  corrupted  or  abandoned  alto 
gether,  he  did  not  recognize  nor  even  believe  in  its 
existence.  A  false  priesthood  had  made  religion  a 
byword  and  a  hissing.  As  ignorant  and  superficial 
as  the  leaders  of  opinion,  he  did  not  distinguish  the 
purer  faith  of  his  fathers  from  the  gross  superstition 
from  which  it  had  separated  itself,  but  condemned 


52  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

all  religion  as  the  folly  of  credulity,  the  evidence  of 
a  weak  and  unenlightened  mind. 

He  was  heartily  in  sympathy  with  Rousseau's 
best  characteristic,  hatred  of  the  artificial  and  un 
natural,  and  joined  in  his  protest  against  the  absurd 
and  arbitrary  tyranny  of  etiquette  and  monstrous 
custom.  He  believed  with  the  great  innovator,  that 
after  the  rags  had  been  taken  from  the  peasant,  and 
the  titles  and  court  dress  lifted  from  the  noble,  in 
each  case  remained  that  essential  atom  of  society — 
man  ;  and  he  held  that  this  human  unit,  with  its 
innate  rights  and  qualities,  naturally  developed, 
must  be  the  starting  point  in  the  reorganization  of 
the  political  fabric. 

He  could  not  then  see  that  he  and  his  teachers 
would  ever  build  in  vain,  even  were  they  to  attempt 
reconstruction ;  for  they  ignored  man's  moral  and 
spiritual  nature  and  its  needs.  Let  man  build  his 
side  of  the  arch  never  so  well,  the  work  would  crum 
ble,  because  the  opposite  side,  which  is  God  and  the 
pure  morality  of  his  law,  and  the  key-stone,  which 
is  intelligent  faith  and  obedience,  would  be  utterly 
lacking. 

But  there  was  hope  for  Saville,  because  he  was  so 
sincere  in  his  skepticism  ;  because  he  accepted  so 
enthusiastically  theories,  the  majority  of  which  now 
have  in  history  a  record  like  that  of  brilliant  meteors 
only.  He  had  not  reached  the  most  hopeless  of 
mental  attitudes,  that  of  coldly  doubting  every 
thing,  nor  had  he  sunk  into  the  apathy  of  discourage 
ment,  or  plunged  into  the  recklessness  of  those  who 
see  nothing  good  or  sure  save  present  gratification. 


THE    ICONOCLASTS. 


53 


His  authors  were  demi-gods,  and  adorned  a  tem 
ple  of  fame  which  he  might  enter.  He  was  not  near 
enough  to  know  the  selfishness,  meanness,  and  often 
baseness  of  their  lives.  If  he  had  read  the  confes 
sions  of  Rousseau,  he  might  not  so  readily  have  be 
come  his  disciple.  The  fact  that  he  could  honestly 
believe  in  these  writers  and  their  teachings,  proved 
him  capable  of  accepting  the  truth  with  equal  hearti 
ness,  when  once  apprehended. 

Saville  heard  with  pleasure  of  the  growing  rest 
lessness  in  the  American  colonies  under  British  rule, 
and  ardently  hoped  that  he  might  there  become  a 
leading  advocate  of  the  broad  liberty  of  the  new 
philosophy. 

It  became  his  favorite  dream  that  he  might  be  one 
of  the  founders  of  a  republic  in  the  new  world,  in 
which  liberty  and  equality  should  be  the  corner 
stones,  human  reason  the  sole  architect,  and  nature 
the  inspiration.  During  his  voyage  home,  he  spent 
much  of  his  time  in  the  imaginary  construction  of 
this  Utopia  of  the  future,  in  which  he  hoped  to  have 
no  mean  place.  Nor  was  it  at  all  surprising  that  one 
of  his  age  and  temperament  should  have  fallen  com 
pletely  under  the  influence  of  the  philosophy  that 
was  then  sweeping  over  the  world. 


54  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  FOR  WORSE." 

O  AVILLE  had  not  been  long  in  his  native  city  be- 
O  fore  an  event  occurred  that  changed  the  spirit  of 
his  dreams,  or  rather  "blended  them  with  others  of  a 
different  nature.  The  nebulous  goddess  of  liberty, 
at  whose  feet  he  had  been  worshiping,  was  exchanged 
for  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood,  earthy  indeed, 
material  even  to  her  mind.  But  Saville  had  a  faculty 
of  seeing  things,  not  as  they  were,  but  through  a 
transfiguring  mist  of  his  own  imagination. 

During  his  voyage  home,  his  father  had  died  sud 
denly,  and,  in  consequence,  young  Saville,  for  a  few 
months  immediately  after  his'  return,  was  much  se 
cluded  from  social  and  political  life.  Sorrow  renders 
the  heart  more  tender  and  receptive,  and  there  were 
long  and  vacant  days  to  be  beguiled.  His  mother, 
who  had  inherited  the  thrifty  traits  of  her  Dutch 
ancestry,  availed  herself  of  this  opportunity  to 
secure  an  alliance  which  worldly  wisdom  would 
commend,  inasmuch  as  the  young  lady  in  question 
was  the  heiress  of  property  which  would  double  the 
large  wealth  of  her  son,  and  thus,  of  course,  double 
his  happiness.  Their  mutual  acres  were  so  situated 
that  they  could  be  joined  together  with  great  ad 
vantage.  Whether  the  moral  and  mental  qualities 


FOR    WORSE.  55 

of  the  parties  themselves  were  equally  adapted  to 
union,  was  not  considered,  and  indeed  seldom  is,  by 
your  sagacious  match-maker,  who  to  the  end  of  time 
will  be  rilled  with  self-congratulation  on  having 
united  estates.  That  two  poor  souls  must  hence 
forth  dwell  in  purgatorial  fires  of  discord,  or  become 
polished  icicles  under  the  steady  frost  of  indiffer 
ence,  is  a  mere  matter  of  sentiment.  Two  acres  in 
stead  of  one  is  a  solid  consideration,  and  ought  to 
satisfy  any  heart. 

Mrs.  Saville  loved  her  son  after  her  fashion,  and 
was  serving  him,  as  she  supposed,  in  the  best  and 
most  enduring  manner.  She  was  aware  that  society 
would  regard  the  match  as  brilliant  ;  and  to  have 
the  world  nod  approval  was  as  great  a  thing  a  hun 
dred  years  ago  as  to-day.  She  had  met  the  parents, 
the  uncles,  and  aunts  of  the  coveted  heiress,  in 
solemn  conclave  on  the  subject,  and  found  them 
quite  as  ready  to  enter  into  the  arrangement  as  her 
self.  With  many  fine  speeches  they  disguised  the 
property  considerations  uppermost  in  each  mind, 
and  it  was  agreed  that  the  young  lady's  disposition 
should  be  delicately  inclined  to  assist.  That  willful 
factor  in  the  problem,  however,  bluntly  said,  "  I'll 
wait  and  see  him  first." 

This  very  natural  decision  disturbed  Mrs.  Saville 
but  little  ;  for  she  knew  that  unless  her  son  had 
changed  greatly,  his  appearance  would  be  in  his 
favor.  Her  chief  ground  of  anxiety  was  the  action 
of  the  young  man  himself. 

"  Men  are  so  unreasonable,"  she  said  ;  "  but  un 
less  Theron  is  utterly  blind  to  his  own  interests, 


56  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

he  must  see  things  as  we  do.  The  young  lady  1 
have  chosen  for  him  is  rich,  handsome,  and  of  one 
of  the  first  families  in  the  colony.  Indeed  her  rela 
tives  in  England  are  titled." 

All  this  was  true.  Mrs.  Saville  had  weighed  ex 
ternals  carefully.  Julia  Ashburton  was  very  hand 
some  after  her  type  and  style.  The  prudent  mother 
had  considered  everything  save  the  viewless,  subtle 
spirit  which  dwelt  within  the  beauty,  and  which 
would  prove,  to  the  sorrow  of  all  concerned,  the 
spirit  of  a  Tartar. 

Verily  Saville  was  utterly  blind  to  his  own  in 
terests  ;  for,  soon  after  his  return,  he  delighted  his 
mother  and  the  other  schemers  by  action  that 
accorded  with  their  plans. 

Miss  Ashburton  was  eminently  gifted  with  the 
power  to  awaken  passion ;  and  in  one  who,  like  The- 
ron  Saville,  saw  everything  through  the  transfigur 
ing  haze  of  his  own  fancy,  she  could  even  inspire  an 
approach  to  love ;  but  a  man  who  desired  a  wife,  a 
home,  and  domestic  peace,  would  look  askance  at 
her.  Her  black  eyes  were  too  near  together,  and 
emitted  scintillations  rather  than  the  pure,  steady 
light  of  a  womanly  nature.  They  could  fascinate 
and  beguile  with  something  of  a  serpent's  power,  but 
they  would  drop  abashed  before  the  searching  gaze 
of  any  honest  man.  Her  forehead  was  none  too  low, 
but  it  was  narrow.  The  development  of  her  lower 
face  was  full ;  not  too  much  so,  perhaps,  for  sensuous 
beauty,  but  to  a  close  observer  it  would  suggest  the 
trait  of  stubbornness,  and  the  possibility  that  pas 
sion  might  triumph  over  all  restraint.  But  it  was 


FOR    WORSE.  57 

the  perfection  of  her  form — which  she  was  not  at 
all  chary  in  displaying — and  her  grace  of  carriage, 
which  constituted  her  chief  attractions.  She  was  as 
lithe  and  supple  as  a  leopard,  as  well  as  feline  in 
many  of  her  qualities. 

But  Saville  glorified  her  into  ideal  womanhood, 
and  she  for  a  time  fostered  his  delusion.  Having 
seen  the  handsome  young  stranger,  who  possessed 
all  the  courtly  bearing  and  polish  that  could  be  ac 
quired  in  French  salons,  she  readily  joined  in  the 
family  conspiracy.  She  was  as  gentle  and  sympa 
thetic  as  it  was  in  her  nature  to  be,  and  gave  him 
most  of  her  time.  A  spirit  less  exuberant  than 
Saville's  would  have  had  a  vague  sense  of  dissatis 
faction — a  consciousness  of  something  wanting  in 
both  her  words  and  manner ;  but  his  heart,  generous 
to  a  fault,  was  deeply  touched  by  her  show  of  regard 
for  his  recent  bereavement,  and  his  love  for  her 
was  mingled  with  gratitude.  Soon  she  saw  him 
a  captive  at  her  feet,  and  could  make  her  own 
terms. 

During  the  long  hours  spent  together,  he,  hoping 
to  find  a  sympathetic  and  congenial  spirit,  had  often 
enlarged  (to  her  horror)  on  his  favorite  dreams  of 
broad,  democratic  liberty  and  equality.  He  even 
permitted  her  to  see  his  bitter  hostility  to  everything 
that  bore  the  name  of  religion,  or  superstition,  as  he 
would  characterize  it,  and  he  regarded  all  forms  of 
faith  as  the  chosen  instruments  of  tyranny.  He  be 
lieved  that  he  could  soon  kindle  in  her  an  enthusiasm 
equal  to  his  own  for  the  new  and  glorious  ideas  that 
he  had  acquired  abroad,  and  for  the  reception  of 
3* 


ijS  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

which,  he  imagined,  events  were  rapidly  preparing 
America. 

Now,  Miss  Ashburton  was,  by  nature  and  educa 
tion,  as  hostile  to  these  ideas  as  it  was  possible  for 
any  one  to  be.  She  was  a  Tory  and  royalist  to  her 
heart's  core,  as  were  all  her  family;  and  their  descent 
from  a  titled  house  in  England  was  the  cherished 
source  of  their  abounding  pride. 

The  girl  to  whom  Saville  often  discoursed  of  his 
Utopian  dreams,  in  a  manner  so  rapt  and  pre-occu- 
pied  that  he  scarcely  noted  her  effort  to  disguise  her 
apathy  and  distaste,  was  not  capable  of  enthusiasm 
for  anything  save  herself.  Selfishness,  the  bane  of 
all  character,  especially  of  woman's,  had  consumed 
the  kindly  endowments  of  her  nature,  and  some 
times,  when  her  lover's  face  was  flushed  in  the 
excitement  of  his  own  thronging  thoughts,  which 
were  at  least  large  and  generous,  if  mainly  erratic, 
there  would  come  a  crafty,  and  even  vindictive, 
gleam  into  her  eyes,  which  seemed  to  say,  "  I  will 
endure  with  such  patience  as  I  can,  until  the  uniting 
links  in  the  chain  are  forged,  and  then  you  must 
listen  to  me." 

If,  at  times,  her  manner  chilled  him,  and  he  im 
agined  her  lacking  in  sympathy,  he  consoled  himself 
by  the  thought  that  she  did  not  yet  understand 
these  great  themes,  and  that  he  could  not  expect 
her  to  reach  in  a  few  weeks  the  advanced  views, 
which,  in  his  case,  had  required  years,  and  that,  too, 
where  they  formed  the  political  and  social  atmo 
sphere  in  which  men  lived. 

As  for  Miss  Ashburton,  she  soon  perceived  what 


FOR    WORSE. 


59 


she  regarded  the  weak  point  in  his  character — the 
one  that  would  give  her  the  advantage  in  the  inevita 
ble  conflict  that  must  come  after  marriage  ;  and  that 
was  his  loyalty  to  his  word— a  scrupulous,  generous, 
though  perverted  sense  of  honor.  He  was  a  true 
gentleman,  after  the  fashionable  French  ideal,  and 
not  according  to  the  French  reality.  It  was  a  sad 
fact,  that  in  that  debauched  and  chaotic  age,  the 
ninth  commandment,  and,  indeed,  every  other 
in  the  Decalogue,  rested  as  lightly  on  the  French 
conscience  as  the  seventh.  Of  course  there  were 
many  honorable  exceptions,  and  to  these  Saville 
belonged. 

Therefore,  when  in  due  time  he  poured  out  his 
passion,  she  was  full  of  demure  hesitancy  and  doubt. 
"  Would  he  be  faithful  to  her?"  she  asked.  "  He 
had  lived  too  long  in  Paris,  where  men's  eyes  and 
fancies  were  given  too  great  freedom.  He  believed 
in  such  new  and  strange  French  doctrines,  which 
seemed  to  unsettle  everything,  even  religion,  and 
was  captivated  by  French  ideas  in  general.  How 
could  she  be  sure  that  she  had  secured  a  steady, 
loyal  English  husband  ?  " 

In  view  of  Saville's  theories  and  rhapsodies  she 
might  perhaps  have  urged  these  objections  with 
some  reason.  But  the  astute  maiden  had  no  fears 
on  these  grounds.  She  was  skillfully  playing  part 
of  a  pre-arranged  game.  She  would  bind  him  by 
many  and  varied  pledges.  She  would  keep  him  from 
the  course  on  which  his  heart  was  bent,  by  promises 
that  now  seemed  silken  cords  of  love  and  loyalty, 
but  would  afterward  prove  galling  fetters  by  which 


60  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

she  would  hold  him  captive  under,  a  merciless 
tyranny. 

Unsuspicious  of  her  object,  he  gave  her  pledges 
innumerable,  which  could  readily  be  made  to  bear 
the  meaning  she  designed;  but  which  in  his  mind 
had  no  such  purport.  '"  Having  ensnared  and  woven 
a  web  around  her  victim,  she  gracefully  permitted 
herself  to  be  won. 

It  was  a  rude  awakening  that  Saville  had  from  his 
delirium  of  love,  and  dream  of  inspiring  sympathy 
in  his  career  as  an  apostle  of  the  broadest  liberty, 
wherein  all  kings,  human  and  divine,  were  to  be 
overthrown.  His  wife  had  been  under  restraint  too 
long  already  for  one  of  her  willful,  self-pleasing 
nature,  and  she  threw  off  the  mask  with  unseemly 
haste.  To  his  dismay  he  found  that  he  had  married 
a  pretty  bigot,  who  would  not  hear  a  word  against 
church  or  state,  the  venerable  abuses  of  which  were 
even  dearer  to  her  than  their  excellencies.  Nay, 
more,  she  told  him  that  by  all  his  oaths  of  loyalty  to 
her  he  was  bound  to  the  Tory  side,  which  was  then 
rapidly  becoming  defined  in  distinction  from  the 
Whig,  or  patriot  party  ;  and  such  was  the  ingenuity 
of  her  feminine  tact,  that  in  his  bewilderment  he 
half  feared  that  she  was  right  ;  and  that  he,  like  the 
Hebrew  slaves,  would  be  compelled  to  build  the 
structures  he  would  gladly  tear  down. 

At  first,  he  chafed  like  a  lion  in  the  toils  ;  but  on 
every  side  she  met  him  with  the  meshes  of  his  own 
unwary  promises.  In  vain  he  protested  that  loyalty 
to  her  did  not  involve  loyalty  to  institutions  that  he 
hated. 


FOR     WORSE.  t>l 

11  I  am  identified  with  these  causes,"  she  would 
coolly  reply. 

By  this  chain  of  loyalty  to  her,  she  would  even 
drag  him  to  church,  and  made  religion  seem  ten-fold 
more  hateful  by  the  farce  she  there  enacted.  His 
eyes  were  now  opened,  and  he  readily  saw  that  she 
was  a  bigot  to  the  forms  of  worship,  and  that  the 
doctrines  of  her  church  were  neither  understood  nor 
considered.  Her  spirit  was  that  of  the  Italian  ban 
dit,  who  will  shed  his  own  blood  to  carry  out  the 
purposes  of  his  priest,  and  the  blood  of  any  one  else 
that  his  interest  or  revenge  may  require. 

Thus  the  wretched  months  dragged  on,  and  Saville 
was  a  moody  captive.  As  the  stirring  events  thick 
ened  which  prepared  the  way  for  the  overt  acts  of 
the  Revolution,  he  was  often  greatly  excited,  and 
inclined  to  break  his  fetters  ;  but  he  was  ever  con 
fronted  by  a  will  more  resolute  than  his  own. 

"  To  whom  do  you  owe  the  more  sacred  duty," 
she  would  ask  ;  "  this  wretched  cabal  of  blatant 
rebels  who  will  find  halters  around  their  necks  if 
they  go  much  further,  or  your  wife  to  whom  you 
have  pledged  your  honor?" 

His  young  friends  in  the  patriot  ranks  were  greatly 
disappointed  in  him.  Before  marriage,  his  utterances 
had  been  pronounced  and  radical ;  now  he  was  silent 
and  kept  himself  aloof. 

There  were  many  sneers  about  the  "apron-strings 
of  a  Tory  wife,"  and  the  "  difference  between  large 
swelling  words  and  the  giving  and  taking  of  honest 
blows."  Some  of  these  flings  reached  Saville,  and 
stung  him  almost  to  frenzy. 


62  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

Of  course  anything  like  love  or  even  passion  died 
out  between  these  two,  whom  relatives  had  so  com 
placently  matched,  but  who  never  could  be  mated. 

At  first,  Saville  often  appealed  to  her,  earnestly 
and  even  passionately,  to  be  a  wife  in  reality,  and  not 
to  thwart  every  hope  and  aspiration  of  his  life. 

She  would  exasperate  him  by  coolly  replying, 
"  Only  as  I  check  and  thwart  your  wild  fancies  and 
mad  action  can  I  be  a  true  wife.  Can't  you  see  that 
you  are  bent  on  ruining  us  both  ?  Your  mind  is  full 
of  monstrous  innovations.  It  is  as  if  you  should  say 
in  the  dead  of  winter,  I  have  a  vague  plan  of  a 
better  home  than  this;  let  me  tear  down  our  house, 
and  I  will  build  something  different.  Not  while  I 
keep  my  senses.  What  would  our  property  be  worth 
under  the  '  nouvelle  ordre*  as  you  call  it  ?  " 

"  But,  madam,  you  do  not  consider  me  at  all,  but 
only  the  property.  Am  I  to  have  no  other  career 
but  that  of  a  steward  of  our  joint  estates  ?  " 

"  That  is  better  than  a  rebel's  halter.  But  let  us 
end  this  useless  discussion.  You  are  a  man  of  honor, 
and  your  word  is  pledged." 

The  tidings  of  the  battle  of  Lexington  almost 
brought  things  to  a  crisis,  and  resulted  in  a  stormy 
scene  between  husband  and  wife.  His  passion  and 
invective  were  so  terrible  as  to  alarm  even  her  for  a 
time.  And  yet  it  only  served  to  intensify  the  settled 
obstinacy  of  her  nature.  It  also  greatly  increased  a 
growing  dislike  for  him,  which  only  needed  time  to 
develop  into  hatred. 

At  the  close  of  this  memorable  interview,  she 
said  harshly, 


FOR    WORSE.  63 

"  I  have  endured  this  folly  long  enough.  You  must 
either  give  up  this  madness  wholly  and  utterly,  or 
else  trample  upon  your  honor  and  duty,  and  proclaim 
yourself  a  perjured  villain.  The  day  you  join  the 
rebel  crew,  you  desert  your  wife  ;  and  I  will  never  so 
much  as  touch  your  hand  again." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  "  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"  The  God  you  dare  to  despise  is  my  witness.  I 
do." 

"  Pitiful  are  the  gods  which  attract  such  worship 
ers,"  he  sneered,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  he  left 
her. 

He  now  saw  that  the  crisis  had  indeed  come.  He 
had  learned  to-know  his  wife  sufficiently  well  to  be 
aware  that  neither  appeals  nor  circumstances  could 
change  her  views  and  actions.  She  formed  her 
opinions  and  purposes  solely  on  the  grounds  of  her 
own  prejudices  and  wishes  ;  and  a  nature  without 
generous  impulses  made  her  coldly  obstinate  in  their 
maintenance. 

And  now  what  should  he  do  ?  The  epithet  "  per 
jured  villain"  stood  in  the  path  to  patriotic  action, 
like  a  grisly  spectre,  for  perjured  he  knew  that  she 
would  make  him  appear  to  her  family. 

If  his  own  interests  only  were  involved,  he  would 
not  have  had  a  moment's  hesitancy.  But  was  it 
right  to  risk  his  property  and  life  in  rebellion,  and 
perhaps  bring  his  mother  to  poverty  and  danger  in 
her  old  age  ?  For  she,  too,  by  many  an  eloquent 
appeal  assured  him  that  he  would  be  false  to  the 
sacred  duties  which  he  owed  her  in  her  widowhood; 
arid  by  the  whole  force  of  the  filial  bond,  sought  to 


64  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

chain  his  generous  nature  to  inaction.  He  was  thus 
torn  by  contending  emotions,  and  tortured  by  con 
flicting  claims.  His  cheeks  grew  wan,  and  his  face 
haggard,  in  as  cruel  a  captivity  as  ever  man  endured. 
But  both  mother  and  wife  looked  on  unsympatheti- 
cally.  They  were  in  the  most  aggravating  condition 
of  mind  toward  the  sufferer,  complacently  sure  that 
they  were  right  and  he  wrong;  that  they  were  acting 
for  his  best  good,  and  that  he,  like  a  rash,  foolish 
child,  must  be  held  in  steady  restraint  until  he  should 
pass  beyond  the  folly  of  his  youth.  Their  treatment 
was  as  humiliating  as  it  was  galling. 

And  yet  he  did  not  know  what  was  right,  for  he 
had  no  true  moral  standard.  He  had  cast  away 
that  book  of  divine  ethics,  which  clearly  defines  the 
relative  force  of  each  claim  upon  the  conscience, 
and  which,  in  an  emergency  like  this,  calmly  lifts  a 
man  up  to  the  sacrifice  of  himself  and  every  earthly 
tie,  that  God  may  be  honored,  and  humanity  at 
large  served. 

But,  in  his  creed,  as  we  have  seen,  man  was  his 
own  law;  and  while  his  heaYt  said,  "Join  the  cause 
of  freedom,"  a  perverted  sense  of  honor  said,  "  No, 
your  word  has  made  you  the  slave  of  your  wife's 
bigotry,  and  your  mother's  fears." 

In  vain  he  appealed  to  his  mother,  telling  her  how 
patriotic  ladies  in  the  city  were  urging  their  sons  to 
heroic  action,  and  teaching  even  their  little  children 
the  alphabet  of  liberty.  She  would  only  weep,  and 
prophesy  dismally. 

"  When  these  mothers  see  their  sons  brought 
home  mangled  corpses,  and  their  pleasant  homes 


FOR    WORSE.  65 

burned,  and  their  children  turned  adrift  upon  the 
heartless  world,  they  will  shed  tears  of  blood  over 
their  folly.  I  love  you  too  well  to  permit  you  to 
rush  to  your  own  destruction  as  truly  as  to  mine." 

She  always  assumed  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  him  to  go  without  -her  permission. 

His  bitter  reply  at  last  became,  "  Your  love  will 
be  my  death  by  slow  torture." 

"  Nonsense,  my  child,"  the  old  lady  answered, 
almost  petulantly.  "You  will  soon  see  the  day 
when  you  will  thank  me  from  the  bottom  of  your 
heart  for  having  kept  you  out  of  this  wretched  broil, 
which  will  ruin  all  who  engage  in  it." 

Thus  there  was  not  even  sympathy  for  him  at 
home,  but  only  a  riveting  of  the  fetters  which  were 
eating  into  his  very  soul.  So  he  came  to  indulge  in 
long  and  lonely  expeditions,  by  which  he  sought  to 
escape,  in  some  degree,  the  painful  conditions  of  his 
city  life. 


66  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 


CHAPTER  V. 
WASHINGTON'S  SERMON. 

TH  E  explanatory  digression  of  the  two  previous 
chapters  left  Saville  returning  from  one  of 
these  flights  from  the  tormenting  difficulties  of  his 
position.  In  due  time  he  approached  his  native 
city,  passing  for  miles1  along  rugged  and  heavily 
wooded  shores,  that  now  are  occupied  by  spacious 
ware-houses,  and  wharves  crowded  with  the  com 
merce  of  the  world. 

By  the  time  he  reached  a  point  opposite  where 
Canal  Street  now  ends  at  the  North  River,  his  at 
tention  was  ^drawn  to  a  large  flotilla,  just  leaving 
the  Jersey  shore.  Remembering  that  it  was  Sunday 
afternoon,  he  was  still  more  surprised  to  find  that  on 
grounds  adjoining  his  own  estate,  near  the  foot  of 
Murray  Street  of  our  day,  an  immense  concourse  of 
people  were  assembled.  His  boat  soon  reached  his 
private  quay,  where  he  found  his  body-servant,  who 
had  come  down  to  the  shore,  with  thousands  of 
others,  to  witness  some  great  event. 

His  master's  face  was  sufficient  interrogation  to 
garrulous  Larry,  and  he  at  once  launched  forth. 

"  Glad  ter  see  yer  honor.  Yer  jist  in  time.  Faix, 
sure,  there's  great  doin's  on  foot.  The  rebels,  as  yer 
leddy  calls  'em,  are  gittin'  bold  as  lions,  an'  will  eat 


WASHINGTON'S    SERMON.  67 

as  up  if  we  don't  jine  the  bastes.  I'm  half  a  mind 
to  turn  rebel  meself." 

"  Stop  your  nonsense,  Larry.  Who  are  those 
coming  yonder  across  the  river,  and  what  does  this 
concourse  mean  ?  " 

"  It  manes  more  than  I  can  tell  ye  in  a  breath, 
yer  honor.  But  that's  Gin'ral  Washington  him 
self  that's  a  comin'  there,  and  the  rebels  have 
knocked  bloody  blazes  out  of  the  red-coats  in  Bos- 
ting." 

These  tidings  were  sufficient  to  arouse  Saville's 
ardent  spirit  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement. 
Mingling  with  the  throng  at  the  spot  near  which  the 
disembarkation  must  occur,  he  met  an  acquaintance 
from  whom  he  obtained  a  more  satisfactory,  if  not 
succinct,  explanation  of  what  he  saw. 

The  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  had  been  fought,  and 
behind  a  slight  breast-work  constructed  by  a  few 
hours'  labor,  his  countrymen  had  met  and  thrice 
repulsed  the  veterans  of  Europe.  In  the  torrent  of 
blood  which  flowed  that  day,  the  Revolution  had 
become  a  fact  to  which  men  could  close  their  eyes 
no  longer.  The  time  had  arrived  when  all  must 
take  sides  ;  and  Saville  recognized  the  truth  that  he 
must  now  choose  with  which  party  he  would  cast  his 
lot.  He  was  in  an  agony  of  conflicting  feelings,  and 
hoped  that  something  in  the  stirring  events  of  the 
hour  might  settle  the  question  which  he  felt  scarcely 
able  to  decide  himself. 

He  gained  a  standing-place  upon  a  projecting 
rock  on  the  beach,  from  whence  he  had  a  good  view 
both  of  the  crowded  shore  and  the  approaching  flo* 


68  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

tilla,  and  his  enthusiastic  nature  kindled  momenta 
rily  as  he  gazed  on  the  scene. 

It  was  a  lovely  summer  afternoon.  The  sun 
shone  bright  but  not  too  warm,  and  gave  a  touch  of 
beauty  and  lightsomeness  even  to  things  prosaic  and 
commonplace  in  themselves.  But  there  was  little 
that  was  ordinary  on  this  occasion.  There,  facing 
him  on  a  sloping  bank,  was  such  a  throng  of  his 
fellow  townsmen  as  he  had  never  before  seen 
together,  their  faces  aflame  with  excitement.  Near 
him  were  drawn  up  in  martial  array  a  thousand 
men  with  glittering  accoutrements,  and  bayonets 
whose  points  the  declining  sun  tipped  with  fire. 

When  the  boats  approached  the  land,  even  the 
heavy  booming  of  the  cannon  was  drowned  by  that 
most  awe-inspiring  sound  of  earth  — the  shout  of  a 
multitude,  wherein  the  thought,  the  intense  feeling 
and  resolute  purpose  of  the  soul  finds  loud,  vehement 
utterance.  It  is  a  sound  that  stirs  the  most  sluggish 
nature.  How  then  would  the  spirit  of  one  be  moved, 
who,  like  Theron  Saville,  believed  that  the  voice  of 
the  people  was  the  voice  of  God  ?  He  did  not  shout 
with  the  others.  His  excitement  was  too  deep  for 
noisy  vent,  but  his  face  grew  stern,  and  his  lips  com 
pressed  with  his  forming  purpose.  He  was  growing 
desperate,  and  was  passing  into  a  mood  in  which  he 
was  ready  to  trample  every  tie  and  extorted  pledge 
under  foot  that  he  might  join  what  he  believed  would 
prove  a  crusade  against  all  tyrants,  temporal  and 
spiritual. 

But  his  chief  desire  now  was  to  look  into  the  face 
of  Washington,  of  whom  he  had  heard  so  often,  and 


WASHINGTON'S   SERMON. 


69 


who  had  even  now  gained  much  of  that  remarkable 
influence  which  he  was  destined  to  possess  over  the 
young  men  of  the  country.  His  rural  and  hunting 
tastes,  his  romantic,  military  experience  on  the  fron 
tier,  and  his  reputation  for  the  most  daring  courage, 
had  already  made  him  a  hero  in  a  new  country  where 
such  qualities  would  be  most  appreciated.  But  to 
Saville,  he  was  more  than  a  hero,  more  than  a 
patriot  and  chivalrous  soldier :  he  was  a  forerunner 
and  inaugurator  of  the  golden  age  of  liberty  and 
equality,  which  his  fancy  portrayed  in  the  near 
future.  Groaning  himself  under  the  thraldom  of 
the  old  and  hated  regime,  he  regarded  the  coming 
commander-in-chief  as  a  captive  in  hard  bond 
age  might  welcome  a  deliverer.  He  expected 
to  see  a  face  that  was  a  revolution  in  itself,  eager, 
fiery,  kindling  others  into  flame  by  its  intense  ex 
pression. 

But,  when  a  tall  and  stately  man  in  the  prow 
of  the  foremost  batteau  uncovered,  as^he  drew 
near  the  shore,  in  acknowledgment  of  the  resound 
ing  acclamations,  he  was  at  first  disappointed.  He 
was  not  looking  on  the  bold,  defiant  features  of  an 
innovator.  There  was  scarcely  a  trace  even  on  that 
calm,  noble  face,  of  the  enthusiasm  that  was  burn 
ing  like  a  flame  in  his  own  heart. 

Wherein  lay  the  man's  greatness  and  power  ?  In 
his  eagerness  to  see  more  nearly  the  one  he  now  felt 
would  largely  shape  his  own  destiny,  as  well  as  that 
of  others,  he  sprang  down  the  rock,  and  uncon- 
'sciously  stood  in  the  shallow  water.  Washington 
noted  his  eager  action,  and  turned  his  face  full  upon 


70  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

him  with  a  kindly  look  and  half-inclination,  while 
Saville  removed  his  hat  at  once. 

As  Washington  again  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  wait 
ing  thousands,  the  young  man  scanned  his  face  as  if 
he  would  there  read  his  own  fate.  Here  was  a  man 
who  had  larger  wealth  and  higher  social  position 
than  himself,  and  yet  he  had  joined  his  fortunes  to 
a  cause  which  Saville's  relatives  characterized  as 
both  desperate  and  disreputable.  Here  was  the 
man  toward  whom  the  national  heart  instinctively 
turned,  and  hailed  as  leader  and  chief.  As  Washing 
ton  looked  to  God  for  guidance  and  help,  Saville 
looked  solely  to  man,  and  as  we  have  said  before, 
with  all  the  eagerness  which  the  hope  of  his  own  de 
liverance  and  the  realization  of  his  dreams  could  in 
spire,  he  scrutinized  the  face  before  him  to  gather  if 
this  were  the  coming  man  of  the  nouvelle  ordre. 

He  did  not  see  what  he  expected — the  embodied 
principles  of  the  French  iconoclasts  and  reckless 
innovators,  but  the  native  quickness  of  his  race  en 
abled  him  to  apprehend  the  spirit  which  animated 
Washington,  and  which  found  expression  in  his  hon 
est  face.  There  was  no  elation,  no  appearance  of 
gratified  pride,  which  such  a  reception  would  have 
evoked,  had  the  elements  of  personal  vanity  existed 
largely  in  his  nature.  There  was  an  absence  of  all 
complacent  self-confidence  and  self-assertion,  and 
yet  he  inspired  confidence,  and  more — something  of 
his  own  heroic  and  patient  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  in 
behalf  of  a  sacred  cause.  His  face  wore  the  solemn 
aspect  of  one  who  felt  himself  charged  with  awful 
responsibilities.  As  he  saw  the  thousands  turning 


WASHINGTON'S    SERMON.  71 

toward  him  in  hope  and  trust,  the  burden  of  the 
nation's  weal  pressed  heavier  upon  him.  And  yet 
there  was  not  a  trace  of  weakness  or  shrinking  in 
view  of  his  mighty  tasks.  His  face  had  the  calm, 
strong  expression  of  one  who  had  counted  the  cost, 
who  was  wholly  consecrated,  and  who,  without  a 
thought  of  self,  proposed  to  serve  a  cause  in  which 
he  fully  believed,  leaving  to  God  the  issue.  Like 
the  ancient  Hebrew  leader  who  climbed  Sinai's 
height  to  the  presence  of  God,  he  also  had  been 
prepared  above  the  clouds  to  lead  the  people  who 
tarried  on  the  plain  below. 

Though  Saville  could  not  understand  the  source 
of  Washington's  strength,  still  the  calm,  noble  face 
quieted  him.  Half  unconsciously  he  was  taught  the 
difference  between  mere  enthusiasm  and  personal 
ambition,  and  a  resolute  purpose  combined  with 
unselfish  devotion.  He  was  generous  and  noble 
enough  himself  to  appreciate  the  heroic  qualities 
embodied  before  him,  and  to  be  won  to  something  of 
the  same  spirit  for  the  time  being.  Washington's 
appearance  and  character  reconciled  Saville's  heart 
and  conscience,  which  had  long  been  at  variance, 
and  made  him  feel  with  the  certainty  of  intuition, 
that  the  cause  which  had  won  such  a  man  was  so 
sacred,  that  he  could  be  true  to  it,  and  at  the  same 
time  true  to  every  duty  he  owed  his  wife  and 
mother. 

There  are  times  when  the  mind,  thoroughly 
aroused,  works  with  marvelous  rapidity ;  and  the 
few  moments  that  intervened  between  the  near 
approach  and  disembarking,  gave  that  face,  toward 


72  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

which  so  many  were  turning  for  inspiration,  time  to 
preach  Saville  the  only  sermon  which  he  had  ever 
heeded.  The  most  effective  sermons  after  all,  are 
those  which  are  embodied.  The  Word  of  God  was 
a  living  person — a  Divine  Man. 

He  who  had  been  harassed  so  long  by  conflicting 
claims,  hesitated  no  longer.  With  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  man  that,  in  his  humanitarian  creed,  he  was 
ready  to  worship,  he  said  in  the  low,  deep  tone  of 
resolve — 

"  His-  cause  is  mine  from  this  hour  forth.  Liberty, 
equality,  or  death." 

Washington  had  landed,  and  Saville  was  possessed 
with  a  desire  to  hear  him  speak,  and  so  pressed 
toward  him  with  many  others.  General  Schuyler, 
who  stood  at  his  chiefs  side,  had  noticed  the  eager 
and  interested  air  of  the  young  man.  He  knew 
Saville  slightly,  and  the  thought  occurred  to  him 
that  it  might  be  a  good  opportunity  to  secure  the 
adherence  of  one  who  had  thus  far  stood  aloof,  but 
whose  wealth  and  talents  wou-ld  be  a  welcome  addi 
tion  to  the  cause.  He  spoke  in  a  low  tone  to 
Washington,  and  then  stepping  up  to  Saville,  said, 

"  Let  me  present  you  to  his  Excellency,  with 
others  of  your  fellow-citizens." 

Before  Saville  could  realize  it,  the  man  he  adored 
had  taken  him  by  the  hand,  saying, 

"  Mr.  Saville,  I  hope  you  are  with  us  in  this  good 
cause." 

With  deep  emotion,  Saville  replied, 

"  I  am  with  you  in  any  service— the  humblest — 
which  your  Excellency  may  require." 


WASHINGTON'S    SERMOK.  73 

"  Rest  assured,"  said  Washington,  kindly,  "  that 
it  will  be  honorable  service,  for  which  your  country 
will  reward  you." 

The  young  man  stepped  back,  more  proud  and 
pleased  than  if  he  had  been  decorated  by  all  the 
sovereigns  of  Europe. 

The  procession  was  now  commencing  to  form. 
Saville  pushed  his  way  out  of  the  throng  to  where 
Larry  was  gaping  at  the  strange  sights,  and  called, 

"  Bring  me  my  horse,  saddled,  within  five  min 
utes." 

"  Och,  by  the  holy  poker,"  gasped  Larry,  as  he 
ran  to  obey  the  order,  "  the  maister  is  a  goin'  to 
turn  rebel :  thin  I'll  be  a  rebel,  too ;  for  there's  nary 
a  man  of  'em  all  that  can  fight  ould  England  wid  a 
better  stomach  than  meself.  Didn't  she  take  the 
last  praty  out  of  me  bin  at  home  ?  " 

A  little  later,  Saville,  mounted  on  his  favorite 
horse,  took  a  flying  leap  over  his  garden  wall,  and 
joined  the  cavalcade  of  leading  citizens  who  were 
to  escort  the  Commander-in-chief  down  Broadway ; 
while  Larry  followed  with  the  populace  on  foot,  chaff 
ing  right  and  left  to  the  amusement  of  many  listeners. 

At  length  the  pageantry  was  over,  and  in  the 
purple  twilight  Saville  sought  his  home.  .  Every 
thing  in  nature  that  Sabbath  evening  breathed  of 
peace  ancj  tenderness,  but  he  justly  feared  that  a 
scene  of  bitter  and  unrelenting  hostility  was  awaiting 
him.  The  coming  battles  in  which  he  would  take 
part,  would  never  require  the  nerve  and  self-control 
that  he  must  maintain  this  quiet  June  evening,  and 
in  his  own  home. 
4 


74  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

In  his  exalted  and  generous  mood,  he  determined 
to  make  one  more  appeal  before  the  final  separation 
with  his  wife  took  place.  But  meetfeg  her  on  the 
piazza,  he  saw  by  a  glance  that  it  would  be  a  vain 
and  humiliating  waste  of  words. 

Her  features  were  inflamed  with  passion,  and 
upon  her  full  lower  face  rested  the  very  impress  of 
willful  stubbornness.  She  had  evidently  heard  of 
his  action  during  the  afternoon,  and  surmised  the 
result.  Having  never  been  thwarted  in  her  life,  she 
now  hated  the  man  whose  course  and  motives  were 
so  utterly  repugnant  to  her. 

She  stood  in  the  doorway,  dressed  for  walking, 
and,  not  waiting  for  him  to  speak,  said  harshly: 

"  Well,  sir,  in  a  word,  what  is  your  decision?  " 

11  I  have  decided  that  I  am  a  free  man  and  a 
patriot." 

"  A  rebel  and  a  perjurer,  you  mean." 

"That  is  your  unjust  version,  madam,"  he  replied 
quietly,  for  Washington's  calm,  strong  face  was 
before  him. 

Her  features  grew  fairly  livid,  but  she  was  about 
to  pass  out  without  a  word. 

"  Julia  !  "  he  exclaimed,  intercepting  her,  "  listen 
for  one  moment  before  you  take  this  rash,  irrevo 
cable  step.  If  I  am  true  to  the  sacred  cause  of 
Liberty,  I  can  be  true  to  you.  I " 

"Stand  aside!"  she  cried,  imperiously  stamping 
her  foot.  "  I  will  not  hear  one  word  of  your  idiotic 
drivel.  The  idea  of  you  being  true  to  anything, 
who  break  pledges  made  at  God's  altar,  and  cast 
off  your  wife  to  join  a  herd  of  ragged,  bias- 


WASHINGTON'S   SERMON. 


75 


pheming  rebels  ;    I  shall  never  darken  your  doors 
again." 

"  Well-chosen  phrase,  madam.  You  have'  indeed 
darkened  my  door,  and  darkened  my  life.  But  fare 
well  :  I  will  not  reproach  you  ;  I  will  be  loyal  to  the 
name  of  wife :  the  reality  I  never  had." 

She  deigned  no  reply,  but  passed  down  the  path 
that  led  to  the  adjoining  residence  of  her  parents, 
with  such  hot  wrath  in  her  heart  that  it  was  strange 
the  roses  did  not  wither  as  she  passed. 

Saville  breathed  more  freely  after  she  was  gone. 
'It  seemed  as  if  a  deadly  incubus  had   been  lifted 
from  him. 

But  he  soon  found  that  the  meeting  with  his 
mother  would  be  a  far  severer  ordeal.  When  he 
entered  her  room,  and  saw  her,  who  was  usually  so 
stately  and  composed,  utterly  broken  down,  rocking 
back  and  forth  as  if  in  mortal  agony,  with  her  gray 
hair  hanging  in  disorder  over  her  face,  he  felt  as  if  a 
sword  had  pierced  him. 

"  Ruined  !  ruined  !  all  is  lost !  "  groaned  the 
wretched  woman. 

"  Why  are  we  ruined,"  he  exclaimed  impetuously, 
"  more  than  thousands  of  families  who  have  joined 
the  patriotic  cause?" 

"  We  shall  soon  be  homeless  and  penniless." 

"  No,  mother,  not  at  all.  I  shall  have  it  distinctly 
known  that  you  still  adhere  to  the  crown.  I  will* 
put  all  the  property  in  your  name,  and  content  my 
self  with  a'soldier's  fare." 

"  And  I  shall  then  be  childless  and  alone  in  the 
world !  "  she  continued  in  the  same  despairing  tone. 


76  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

4%  Oh,  cease,  mother ;  you  may  break  my  heart, 
but  you  cannot  change  my  purpose.  My  word  is 
pledged  to  Washington  and  Liberty." 

"•  It  has  been  pledged  before,"  was  the  reproach 
ful  reply. 

"No!"  said  the  young  man  sternly;  "  do  not 
charge  me  with  dishonor.  I  can  endure  that  from 
the  woman  to  whom  the  miserable  hap-hazard 
chance  of  this  world  and  priest-craft  temporarily 
joined  me,  but  not  from  you.  I  never  deliberately 
and  consciously  made  a  pledge  against  my  present 
course;  and  to-day  I  have  seen  a  man  who  has 
taught  me  how  I  can  be  true  to  you,  and  at  the 
same  time  true  to  Liberty.  You  say,  'my  child,' — 
do  you  not  realize  that  I  am  a  man,  who  must  be 
guided  by  his  own  independent  will  or  be  despised 
by  all  ?  I  have  chosen  my  lot." 

With  these  decisive  words,  Saville  retired  to  his 
room,  that  he  might  regain  his  calmness  and  form 
some  plans  for  the  future. 

Among  his  first  acts  during  the  next  few  weeks 
was  the  transfer  of  a  large  sum  of  money  to 
Paris,  subject  to  his  own  or  his  mother's  order. 
Having  thus  cast  an  anchor  to  the  windward,  he  felt 
that  he  had  done  much  to  provide  against  the  vicis 
situdes  of  that  stormy  period,  and  thus  could  give 
his  thoughts  more  fully  to  the"  stirring  work  of  the 
hour.  He  explained  his  situation,  as  far  as  a  scru 
pulous  delicacy  would  permit,  to  Captain  Sears,  more 
generally  known  by  the  sobriquet  of  "  King"  Sears, 
and  told  this  recognized  leader  of  the  populace  in  all 
daring  revolutionary  acts,  that  after  the  few  weeks 


WASHINGTON'S    SERMON. 


77 


required  to  settle  his  affairs  and  provide  for  his 
mother,  he  would  be  ready  to  enter  the  regular 
service,  and  that,  in  the  mean  time,  if  any  enterprise 
were  on  foot,  he  could  be  depended  flpon  at  any 
moment.  His  young  Whig  acquaintances  had  no 
further  cause  to  complain  of  his  absence  from  their 
councils,  or  of  a  disposition  to  shrink  from  "  honest 
blows  "  if  any  were  to  be  received.  He  found  a 
congenial  spirit  in  a  fiery  young  student  of  King's 
College,  and  whom  his  companions  nick-named 
"  the  Little  Giant,"  but  who  is  now  known  to  the 
world  as  Alexander  Hamilton ;  and  the  two  young 
rebels,  in  Tory  estimation,  plotted  treason  enough 
to  satisfy  the  shade  of  Guy  Fawkes,  and  were  quite 
as  ready  to  blow  up  Parliament  and  all  other  ancient 
ly  constituted  authorities. 

Mrs.  Saville's  manner  was  for  a  time  that  of  cold 
and  stony  despair,  and  considering  her  views  and 
feelings,  it  was  more  real  than  assumed.  But  be 
neath  the  thick  crust  of  her  worldliness  and  conser 
vatism,  there  was  a  warm,  motherly  heart,  which 
soon  began  to  yearn  toward  'her  only  son,  who,  she 
now  feared,  might  any  day  be  lost  to  her  forever. 
Her  coldness  soon  gave  place  to  a  clinging  tender 
ness,  which  she  had  never  before  manifested,  and 
which  made  it  a  hundred-fold  harder  for  her  son  to 
carry  out  the  steadfast  purpose  which  the  expres- 
sion  of  Washington's  face  had  inspired.  Moreover, 
such  are  the  contradictions  of  woman's  heart,  she 
secretly  admired  her  handsome  son,  in  his  buff  and 
blue  uniform,  and  respected  him  far  more  than  if  he 
had  been  content  to  remain  merely  the  steward  of 


78  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

the  large  joint  estates  which  her  thrifty  scheming 
had  united. 

Both  pride  and  indifference  prevented  Saville  from 
making  advances  toward  his  wife,  and  there  was 
nothing  in  heV  nature  that  would  prompt  to  any  re 
lenting.  On  the  contrary,  as  her  husband's  out 
spoken  republicanism  and  skepticism  were  bruited 
through  the  city,  her  hatred  grew  more  intense  and 
vindictive.  Not  only  was  his  opposition  to  church 
and  state  most  offensive,  but  the  fact  that  he  could 
break  her  chains  and  ignore  her  existence  was 
humiliating,  and  taught  the  spoiled  beauty,  for  the 
first  time,  that  her  despotic  will  could  be  disregarded. 
Nothing  so  exasperates  some  natures  as  to  be  first 
thwarted,  and  then  severely  let  alone. 

He  scrupulously  re-transferred  her  dower  and  every 
vestige  of  property  to  which  she  had  the  slightest 
claim ;  and  she,  in  impotent  spite,  refused  to  be 
known  any  longer  by  his  name  ;  but  the  irrevocable 
marriage  vows  had  been  spoken,  and  this  past  act  of 
folly,  like  a  hidden  rock  had  seemingly  wrecked  the 
happiness  of  both.  They  might  hate  each  other, 
but  they  were  forbidden  to  love  any  one  else. 


A    SCENE   AT  BLACK   SAM'S.  79 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  A  SCENE  AT  BLACK   SAM'S." 

ON  the  evening  of  the  23d  of  August,  1775,  a 
large  mansion  standing  at  the  corner  of  Broad 
way  and  Dock  (now  Pearl)  Street,  appeared  to  be 
the  center  of  unusual  excitement,  even  at  that  time 
of  general  ferment.  The  place  was  well  known  as 
the  down-town  tavern  of  Samuel  Fraunces,  who,  from 
the  swarthiness  of  his  complexion,  went  by  the 
sobriquet  of  "  Black  Sam."  This  tap-room  and 
restaurant  was  a  general  resort,  not  only  because 
Fraunces  was  the  De.lmonico  of  that  day,  and  could 
serve  a  dinner  and  cater  in 'wines  better  than  any 
other  man  in  the  city,  but  also  because  Sam's 
patriotism  effervesced  as  readily  as  his  champagne 
or  strong  beer;  and,  it  may  be  added,  for  the  reason 
that  they  were  often  served  by  his  pretty,  black-eyed 
daughter,  Phoebe  Fraunces.  To  her,  perhaps,  in 
the  following  year,  Washington  owed  his  life,  since 
she  was  able,  through  the  confidence  given  her  by  a 
lover  who  was  one  of  Washington's  body-guard,  to 
penetrate  a  Tory  plot  to  destroy  the  dread  Com 
mander-in-chief  by  poison.  True-hearted  Phoebe 
was  not  to  be  won  by  a  lover  who  proposed  to  ad 
minister  such  potions,  so,  having  smilingly  beguiled 
from  him  his  secret,  she  furnished  him  with  another 


go  .    NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

noose  than  that  of  Hymen's  make,  and  donning 
her  brightest  petticoat,  went  cheerfully  to  his  hang 
ing. 

But  upon  this  memorable  occasion,  she  was  the 
embodiment  of  exuberant  health  and  spirits,  and 
seemed  as  sparkling  as  the  wines  she  brought  to  the 
guests  that  thronged  this  favorite  haunt  of  the  city. 
It  was  warm,  and  her  round,  stout  arms  were  bare, 
and  her  swelling  throat  and  bosom  snowy  white, 
while  her  eyes  were  black  as  coals.  But  while  she 
was  coquettish  and  piquant,  there  was  nothing  pert 
or  bold  in  her  manner,  and  he  was  either  drunk  or 
brutish  who  gave  her  a  wanton  word  the  second 
time.  In  her  ready  tongue  she  carried  a  keener 
weapon  than  the  swords  that  dangled  and  clattered 
at  the  sides  of  the  incipient  warriors  on  whom  she 
waited ;  and  when  provoked  she  gave  thrusts  which 
brought  the  hot  blood  at  least  to  their  faces.  But 
while  she  inspired  a  wholesome  respect,  she  was  gen 
erally  bubbling  over  with  good  humor  and  arch 
repartee,  and  so  was  a  general  favorite.  Hei  mercu 
rial  nature  readily  caught  the  spirit  of  the  hour 
and  to-night  her  dark  eyes  were  ablaze  with  excite 
ment,  and  her  white  teeth,  which  frequent  smiles 
displayed,  and  her  white  neck  and  arms,  gave  to 
her  quick  movements  a  glancing,  scintillating  effect. 
As  she  flitted  here  and  there  among  the  noisy  pa 
triots,  many  an  eager  sentence  was  suspended  and 
but  lamely  finished,  as  the  speaker's  eyes  followed 
her  admiringly. 

Little  wonder  that  she  was  the  blooming  Hebe  of 
this  bacchanalian  Elysium  ;  for  the  majority  habitu- 


A    SCENE    AT  BLACK'    SAM'S.  8 1 

ally  craved  the  boon  of  drinking  to  her  health.  She 
would  graciously  comply,  and  then  chuckle  with  her 
father  over  the  coins  resulting,  when,  at  the  late 
hour  (at  that  primitive  time)  of  ten  at  night,  they 
counted  the  gains  of  the  day.  It  is  to  such  places 
that  men  resort  who  appear  to  value  more  public 
and  purchased  smiles  from  those  who  sell  to  all 
alike,  than  similar  glances  from  wives  and  children, 
which  they  rarely  seek  to  win,  and  more  rarely 
deserve.  Phcebe  was  not  above  reaping  this  harvest 
from  fools ;  but  she  did  it  so  fascinatingly  that  they 
felt  well  repaid. 

Black  Sam,  broad  and  swarthy,  stood  behind  his 
bar,  controlling  and  directing  his  large  establishment 
from  this  central  point  like  a  captain  on  the  deck  of 
his  ship.  His  eyes  were  a  trifle  duller  than  Phoebe's, 
and  indicated  that  he  indulged  occasionally  in  more 
than  the  sips  of  a  connoisseur.  But  to-night  they 
glanced  rapidly  and  shrewdly  around,  seeing  that 
his  daughter  and  her  assistants  neglected  no  one  ; 
and  he  found  timex  in  the  mean  while,  to  add  a  word 
in  his  heavy  bass  to  the  various  pronounced  politi 
cal  discussions  and  utterances  going  on  around  him. 
It  was  very  evident  that  Sam  and  his  patrons  had 
little  reverence  for  the  "  divinity  which  doth  hedge 
a  king,"  and  these  quasi  subjects  of  George  III. 
spoke  of  him  with  a  refreshing  candor  which  it 
would  have  been  well  for  him  to  have  heard,  for  it 
might  have  saved  a  world  of  trouble.  It  has  ever 
been  the  chief  misfortune  of  potentates  that  they 
are  surrounded  by  a  dead  wall  of  courtiers  that  ex 
cludes  every  rude  but  warning  sound. 

4* 


g2  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

Phoebe's  excitable  temperament  correctly  inter 
preted  the  occasion.  There  was  something  abroad 
in  the  air  which  charged  the  summer  night  with 
subtle  and  electrifying  power.  Though  many  were 
evidently  in  ignorance,  it  was  noted  that  Fraunces 
exchanged  significant  glances  with  several  present, 
and  seemed  dilating  with  some  portentous  secret. 
His  suppressed  excitement  grew  more  apparent,  as 
his  rooms  filled  rapidly,  and  the  crowd  increased 
about  the  doors.  It  was  also  observed  that  all  the 
newcomers  were  armed,  and  that  among  the  rapidly 
appearing  faces  were  those  which,  like  beacon  fires 
always  betokened  some  doughty  undertaking.  The 
general  stir  and  hoarse  murmur  of  voices  was  greatly 
augmented  when  Saville  entered  with  young  Hamil 
ton,  followed  by  fifteen  students  from  King's  Col 
lege,  all  fully  armed.  The  latter  were  soon  chaffing 
with  Phcebe  as  they  took  from  the  tray  she  brought 
them,  glasses  brimming  over  with  rich  Madeira,  for- 
which  the  tavern  was  most  famous. 

"  With  father's  compliments,"  said  Phcebe,  cour- 
tesying. 

Then,  boy-like,  they  proposed  three  cheers  for 
the  prince  of  caterers  and  the  fair  Hebe  who  had 
borne  them  the  nectar  which  he  alone  could  fur 
nish  ;  and  they  were  given  with  deafening  hearti 
ness  and  glasses  raised  aloft. 

They  were  scarcely  drained,  before  a  young  man, 
leaning  upon  the  bar,  and  who  was  more  noted  for 
his  drinking  powers  than  his  discretion,  cried; 

11 1  propose  another  toast — Saville,  who  is  doubly 
to  be  congratulated,  since  he  has  escaped  a  double1 


A    SCENE    AT   BLACK   SAM'S.  83 

bondage — that  of  King  George  and  also  of  his  Tory 
wife ;  having  slipped  the  cable  of  her  apron-string 
by  which " 

Before  he  could  finish  his  sentence,  Saville's  fist 
was  planted  upon  his  niouth  with  such  force  as  to 
send  him  reeling  to  the  floor,  with  his  glass  clatter 
ing  after  him.  Standing  over  the  prostrate  and 
half-tipsy  man,  and  trembling  with  rage,  Saville 
said,  threateningly, 

"  The  man  who  dares  to  cast  a  slur  upon  my  wife 
shall  do  so  at  his  peril." 

There  was  the  usual  uproar  and  .confused  sound  of 
conflicting  voices,  when  a  cry  arose  which  drowned 
all  else,  "  Sears,  Sears,  King  Sears,"  and  that  great 
firebrand  of  the  American  Revolution,  whose  head 
long  zeal  and  courage  kindled  so  many  fires  of  con 
tention  with  the  royal  authorities,  stood  among 
them. 

"  Come,  come,  comrades,"  he  cried,  "  no  need  of 
interchanging  blows  here  among  yourselves.  Come 
with  me,  and  I  will  give  you  a  crack  at  our  common 
enemy.  Colonel  Lamb,  with  his  artillerymen,  and 
Captain  Lasher,  with  his  company,  are  marching 
down  Broadway  to  take  the  guns  at  the  fort,  with 
out  saying  so  much  as  '  by  your  leave.'  Who  will 
follow  me  to  their  aid  ?  " 

There  was  a  loud  acquiescing  shout,  while  Black 
Sam  sprang  over  his  bar,  crying, 

"  Lead  on,  King  Sears,  and  the  man  who  refuses 
to  follow  may  choke  with  thirst  before  my  hand 
serves  him  again." 

In  Fraunces's  estimation,  this  was  the  direst  threat 


84  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

he  could   make,  and   in  fact,  to  many  present,  the 
fulfillment  would  be  like  cutting  off  the  springs  of  life. 
Hamilton  took  Saville's  arm,  saying, 
"  Come,  comrade,  fall  in.     What  do  the  maudlin 
words  of  that  drunken  fellow  signify?    Come,  you 
know  we've  grand  work  on  hand  to-night." 

In  a  few  brief  moments  the  crowded,  noisy  rooms 
were  deserted.  The  street  became  full  of  hoarse 
shoutings,  and  the  confused  sound  of  many  feet,  as 
Sears,  Hamilton,  and  other  extemporized  officers 
marshaled  the  citizen-soldiery  in  something  like 
orderly  array.  Then  from  the  head  of  the  column 
rang  out  those  stirring  words  which,  though  causing 
many  hearts  to  bound  with  hope  and  thrill  with 
grand  excitement,  have  yet  been  the  death-knell 
of  myriads. 

"  Forward  —  march  ! " 

With  strong  and  steady  tramp  the  dusky  figures 
receded  toward  Broadway,  while  Phoebe,  with  eyes 
ablaze,  stood  in  the  door  waving  a  farewell  with  her 
handkerchief,  its  flutter  meaning  anything  rather 
than  a  truce  with  King  George's  agents  of  oppres 
sion. 

Black  Sam's  buxom  wife  took  his  place  behind  the 
bar,  while  Phoebe  repaired  to  an  upper  window  that 
she  might  see  if  the  English  man-of-war  in  the  har 
bor  had  anything  to  add  to  the  drama  of  the  even 
ing.  The  hitherto  thronged  hostelry  became  silent, 
being  deserted  by  all  save  a  few  old  men  whose  age 
precluded  them  from  taking  part  in  the  events  of 
the  night.  It  was  an  occasion  when  not  even  the 
famous  Madeira  of  Sam's  tavern  could  tempt  any 


A    SCENE    AT  BLACK  SAM'S.  g$ 

loyalists  thither  ;  and  such  of  the  Whigs  as  were 
too  prudent  to  join  the  raid,  skulked  away,  much 
preferring  to  face  a  dozen  English  batteries  than  to 
hear  the  comments  of  Phcebe  Fraunces  upon  their 
discretion. 

As  for  the  young  woman  herself,  she  repined  bit 
terly  at  the  usages  of  society  which  prevented  her 
from  taking  hand  in  the  promised  melee,  and  was 
half  inclined  to  don  her  father's  habiliments,  and  be 
a  man  in  spite  of  fate. 


86  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

NEW  YORK  UNDER  FIRE. 

COLONEL  LAMB  and  Captain  Lasher  with 
v_^  their  companies  halted  on  Broadway  till  Sears 
and  his  following  of  citizens  joined  them;  then  they 
proceeded  at  once  to  Fort  George,  which  had  its  front 
on  Bowling  Green,  and  was  located  within  the  space 
now  bounded  by  State,  Bridge,  and  Whitehall  Streets. 
Tory  informers  had  revealed  to  the  authorities  in 
charge  of  this  work  the  intended  attack.  In  view 
of  the  overwhelming  force, ^no  resistance  was  made 
by  the  small  garrison.  Unmolested  at  first,  the 
patriots  went  to  work  with  feverish  zeal  to  dismount 
the  cannon  from  the  bastions,  and  load  them  on  the 
heavy  wagons  that  came  lumbering  down  Broadway 
for  the  purpose. 

To  Alexander  Hamilton  and  his  party  was  given 
the  task  of  capturing  Grand  Battery,  another  and 
smaller  work  nearer  the  river,  which  was  also  accom 
plished  without  resistance. 

But  the  fiery  young  spirits  composing  this  band 
were  much  disappointed  at  the  quiet  and  peacefu 
nature  of  the  enterprise  thus  far. 

"  We  might  as  well  have  come  armed  with  cnly 
pickaxes  and  crowbars,"  growled  Hamilton. 

"  Yes,"  responded    Saville,  in   like    discontented 


NEW    YORK    UNDER   FIRE.  8/ 

mood.  "  A  brigade  of  carmen  was  all  that  was 
required  on  this  occasion.  I  had  hoped  that  the 
night  would  be  enlivened  by  a  few  flashes  at  least. 
Suppose  we  go  down  to  the  water's  edge  and  take  a 
look  at  the  Asia." 

Securing  the  approval  of  their  superior  officers, 
and  leaving  a  guard  in  charge  of  the  work,  the  rest 
of  the  party  commenced  patrolling  the  shore,  cast 
ing  wistful  glances  at  the  ship,  whose  masts  and 
yards  were  faintly  outlined  against  the  sky. 

"  Now,  if  we  only  had  a  dozen  whale-boats,"  said 
Hamilton,  "  and  could  go  out  and  board  that  old 
tub,  we  would  have  a  night's  work  that  would  stir 
one's  blood." 

44  Not  a  little  would  be  set  running,  no  doubt," 
replied  Saville  ;  "  and  it  would  not  all  be  on  our  side 
either,  I  imagine.  But  see,  they  are  waking  up  on 
board.  We  may  have  a  bout  with  those  water  dogs 
yet." 

It  soon  became  clear  that  there  was  an  unusual 
stir  and  excitement  on  the  vessel.  Lights  gleamed 
and  glanced  rapidly  from  point  to  point,  and  faint 
and  far  away  came  the  sound  of  orders  hastily 
given. 

Then  there  was  a  heavy  splash  in  the  water. 

"  Hurrah!"  cried  Hamilton,  "  they  are  manning  a 
boat.  We  will  resolve  ourselves  into  a  committee 
of  reception." 

The  measured  cadence  of  oars  confirmed  the  sur 
mise  just  made,  and  the  young  men  eagerly  pressed 
to  the  furthest  point  of  land,  and  looked  well  to  the 
priming  of  their  firelocks.  The  barge  was  pulled 


88  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

steadily  toward  them  until  at  last  a  dusky  outline 
emerged  from  the  night,  and  then  the  shadowy  fig 
ures  of  the  crew. 

"  Make  not  a  sound,  and  let  them  land  if  they 
will,"  said  Hamilton  in  a  low  tone. 

But  the  barge  approached  warily,  with  lengthening 
rests  after  each  dip  of  the  oars.  At  last,  the  officer 
in  command  detected  the  little  party  in  waiting,  and 
shouted  : 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ?  What  deviltry  is  on 
foot  to-night  ?  " 

"Come  and  see,"  cried  Hamilton  laconically. 

But  the  officer's  night-glass,  together  with  the 
ominous  sounds  from  Fort  George,  clearly  showed 
that  this  was  not  good  advice  under  the  circum 
stances.  There  was  a  hurried  consultation,  and  then, 
whether  by  order  or  not  cannot  be  known,  some  one 
in  the  boat  fired  a  musket,  and  the  hot  young  bloods, 
for  the  first  time,  heard  the  music  of  a  whistling 
bullet. 

"  Give  'em  a  volley —  quick  !  "  cried  Hamilton. 

Obedience  .to  the  order  was  indeed  prompt,  and 
yet  not  so  hasty  but  that  the  marksmen,  familiar 
with  the  rifle  from  boyhood,  took  good  aim,  and 
several  in  the  barge  were  killed  and  wounded.  The 
silent  oars  at  once  struck  the  water  sharply,  and  the 
boat  rapidly  disappeared  toward  the  man-of-war; 
but  the  young  men  heard  enough  to  satisfy  them 
that  their  shots  had  taken  effect. 

Immediately  upon  the  report  of  the  first  musket, 
Colonel  Lamb,  Captain  Lasher,  and  King^Sears  has* 
tened  to  the  shore  with  many  others,  and  learned  from 


NEW    YORK    U.VDF.R    FIRE. 


89 


Hamilton  what  had  occurred.  In  the  mean  time 
the  barge  reached  the  vessel  and  reported,  satisfying 
Captain  Vandeput  of  the  Asia  that  the  intimations 
he  had  received  of  the  proposed  attack  upon  the 
forts  were  correct.  The  British  authorities  hitherto 
had  hesitated  in  taking  decisive  action,  knowing 
that  it  would  precipitate  the  conflict  at  once.  But 
now  the  point  of  forbearance  seemed  passed,  and  he 
ordered  the  port-holes  opened  and  the  rebels  dis 
persed  by  a  few  shots.  In  quick  succession  three 
flashes  came  from  the  ship's  sides,  and  three  balls 
plowed  into  the  Battery. 

But  so  far  from  dispersing  quietly,  Lamb  ordered 
the  drums  to  beat  to  arms,  and  the  church  bells  to 
be  rung,  and  soon  the  silent  city  was  in  an  uproar. 

English  blood,  as  well  as  American,  was  now  at 
boiling  point,  and  the  defiant  sounds  from  the  shore 
were  no  longer  answered  by  single  shots  but  by 
broadsides,  the  thundering  echoes  and  crashing  balls 
of  which  awoke  both  Whigs  and  Tories  to  the  real 
ization  of  the  true  meaning  of  war.  The  experiences 
of  Boston,  the  very  thought  of  which  had  caused 
many  to  tremble,  were  now  their  own  in  the  aggra 
vated  form  of  a  midnight  cannonade.  Men,  women, 
and  children,  many  but  partially  clad,  rushed  into 
the  streets  and  joined  the  increasing  throng  of  fugi 
tives  that  pressed  toward  the  open  country,  away 
from  the  terrible  monster  in  the  harbor,  whose 
words  were  iron,  and  whose  hot  breath  threatened 
to  burn  their  homes  over  their  heads.  Tories,  as 
they  ran,  cursed  the  rebels,  whom  they  regarded  as 
the  cause  of  the  trouble  ;  and  the  Whigs  anathema- 


9o 


NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 


tized  British  tyranny.  But  faster  and  hotter  than 
their  oaths  the  heavy  balls  crashed  into  their  houses 
or  over  their  heads,  with  the  peculiar,  demoniacal 
shriek  of  a  flying  shot. 

A  night  bombardment  is  a  terrible  thing  for 
strong,  brave  men  to  endure.  The  roar  of  cannon 
is  awe-inspiring  in  itself;  but  when  it  is  remembered 
that  every  flash  and  thunder  peal  has  its  resistless 
bolt  which  is  aimed  at  one's  life,  only  those  who 
have  nerved  themselves  to  calmly  risk  their  lives,  or 
who,  like  the  patriots  on  the  Battery,  are  lifted  by 
mad  excitement  above  all  fears,  can  stand  unmoved. 
But  how  could  the  sick  and  the  aged — how  could 
helpless  women  and  children  endure  such  an  ordeal? 
Only  the  pitying  eye  of  God  noted  all  the  fainting, 
mortal  fear  of  those  who  tremblingly  snatched 
children,  treasures,  or  sacred  heirlooms,  and  sought 
to  escape.  Hearts  almost  ceased  their  beating,  as 
the  terror-stricken  fugitives  heard  balls  whizzing  to 
ward  them.  The  messengers  of  death  might  strike 
out  of  the  darkness  any  where  and  any  one.  Broad 
way  has  witnessed  many  scenes,  but  never  a  more 
pitiable  one  than  when,  in  that  August  midnight,  a 
hundred  years  ago,  it  was  thronged  with  half-clad, 
shrinking,  sobbing  women,  and  little  children  wailing 
for  parents,  lost  in  the  darkness  and  the  confusion  of 
flight.  When,  at  last,  the  open  fields  beyond  the 
range  of  the  Asia's  guns  were  reached,  the  strangely 
assorted  multitude,  from  whom  the  gloom  of  night 
and  common  misfortune  had  blotted  out  all  distinc 
tions,  sat  down  panting  and  weary,  and  prayed  for 
the  light  of  day. 


NEW    YORK    UNDER    FIRE.  gi 

Many  who  were  helpless  and  a  few  who  were 
brave  remained  in  their  homes,  either  in  an  agony 
of  fear  or  in  quiet  resignation.  Among  the  latte* 
was  Phoebe  Fraunces.  But  there  was  not  a  particle 
of  resignation  in  her  nature,  for  she  chafed  around 
her  father's  tavern  like  a  caged  lioness ;  and  when  a 
round  shot,  well  and  spitefully  aimed  at  the  "  pesti 
lent  rebel  nest,"  as  it  was  called  on  the  Asia,  crashed 
through  the  house,  shattering  a  decanter  of  Madeira 
that  the  gunner  would  rather  have  drained  himsej' 
she  forgot  the  softness  of  her  sex  utterly,  and  seizing 
a  huge  cutlass  that  hung  over  the  bar,  and  leaving 
her  mother  to  recover  from  a  fit  of  hysterics  as  best 
she  might,  she  started  for  the  scene  of  action  in  a 
mood  that  would  have  led  her  to  board  the  Asia 
single-handed,  had  the  opportunity  offered.  But,  as 
she  approached  Fort  George  and  heard  the  rough 
voices  of  the  men  at  work,  her  modesty  regained  its 
control,  and  she  realized  that  it  was  scarcely  proper 
for  a  young  woman  to  be  abroad  and  alone  at  that 
time  of  the  night ;  so,  she  who  was  ready  to  attack 
a  man-of-war,  turned  and  fled  before  that  which  a 
true  woman  fears  more  than  an  army — the  appear 
ance  of  evil.  But  it  would  have  been  a  woful 
blunder  for  any  rude  fellow  to  have  spoken  to  Phoebe 
that  night,  armed  as  she  was  with  the  old  cutlass, 
and  abundance  of  muscle  to  wield  it.  His  gallant 
advances  would  have  been  cut  short  instantly. 

Although  there  was  panic  in  the  city,  there  was 
nothing  of  the  kind  within  the  dismantled  walls  of 
Fort  George,  from  which  the  cannon  were  fast  disap 
pearing  ;  nor  upon  the  Battery,  where  Colonel  Lamb's 


Q2  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

artillerymen,  flanked  by  Hamilton  and  his  students, 
were  drawn  up,  to  prevent  the  Asia  from  interfering 
with  their  operations  by  landing  a  force  from  the 
vessel.  But  Captain  Vanderput  prudently  contented 
himself  with  striking  from  a  distance,  supposing  that 
the  terrors  of  a  night  bombardment  would  soon 
bring  the  contumacious  rebels  to  their  knees.  To 
make  the  warning  lesson  still  more  effectual,  and 
to  greatly  increase  their  punishment,  he  ordered  the 
guns  to  be  loaded  occasionally  with  the  deadly 
grape-shot. 

But,  in  the  morning,  both  he  and  the  populace  had 
a  surprise.  The  Battery  was  not  covered  with  killed 
and  wounded.  In  fact,  there  was  not  a  Whig  to  be 
seen,  dead  or  alive.  But  neither  was  there  a  cannon 
to  be  found  in  the  royal  forts.  While  he  had  been 
thundering  his  disapproval  from  the  harbor,  the 
"  raw  militia,"  who,  his  officers  jocularly  asserted, 
"  would  not  stop  running  south  of  King's  Bridge," 
had  steadily  completed  their  tasks,  and  spirited  off 
every  gun  to  parts  unknown. 

And  when,  in  the  peaceful  summer  morning,  the 
fugitives,  who  had  spent  the  night  in  the  open  air, 
concluded  they  had  better  go  home  to  breakfast, 
and  appear  in  less  picturesque  toilets,  they  found, 
instead  of  death,  carnage,  and  gutters  running  with 
blood,  no  wounds  save  those  which  the  carpenter 
and  joiner  could  heal.  It  was  another  remarkable 
example  of  how  little  destruction  may  be  caused  by 
a  bombardment,  even  in  a  crowded  city.  The  mer 
curial  temperament  of  the  people,  which  their 
descendants  seem  to  have  inherited,  led  those  of 


NEW    YORK    UNDER    FIRE. 


93 


Whig  proclivities,  who  were  overwhelmed  with 
terror  but  a  few  hours  previous,  to  react  into  cheer 
fulness  and  exultation.  Many  doughty  citizens, 
who  stole  into  their  back  entrances,  strangely  ap 
pareled,  soon  afterward  appeared,  dressed  in  dif 
ferent  style,  at  their  front  doors,  hoping  that  their 
flight  had  been  covered  by  the  darkness ;  and  not  a 
few,  who  had  made  excellent  time  toward  King's 
Bridge,  ventured,  over  their  dram  at  the  corners  of 
the  streets,  to  descant  on  "  the  way  we  carried  off 
the  British  bulldogs  from  the  fort." 

The  Tory  element  in  the  city  was  very  quiet  that 
day;  but  a  sullen,  vindictive  expression  lowered  upon 
many  faces.  The  timid  and  conservative  sighed, 
again  and  again, 

"  Where  is  this  thing  to  end  ?  " 

In  a  beautiful  up-town  villa,  the  face  of  one  fair 
woman  was  often  distorted  with  passion  and  hate, 
as  she  hissed,  through  her  teeth,  "  He  was  foremost 
in  this  vile  night  work."  But  when  Saville,  hungry 
and  exhausted,  reached  his  home,  his  mother,  who 
had  been  a  sleepless  watcher,  only  folded  him  in  her 
arms,  murmuring, 

"Thank  God !  you  are  yet  spared  to  me." 

Then  she  gave  him  a  breakfast  that  in  future 
campaigning  caused  many  a  longing  sigh  as  he  re 
membered  it. 


94  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LARRY   MEETS   HIS  FATE. 

HAVING  completed  all  the  arrangements  pos 
sible  for  his  mother's  comfort,  and  settled  his 
affairs  as  far  as  the  times  permitted,  Saville  made 
known  his  readiness  to  enter  the  regular  service  at 
any  point  where  he  could  be  most  useful.  His 
education  as  an  engineer  led  to  his  being  s'ent  to 
Martelear's  Rock  (Constitution  Island)  in  the  High 
lands  of  the  Hudson.  He  would  have  much  pre 
ferred  serving  under  Washington,  before  Boston,  but 
had  too  much  of  the  spirit  of  a  soldier  to  think  of 
aught  save  prompt  obedience.  Having  been  com 
missioned  as  lieutenant,  he  repaired  to  the  scene 
of  his  duties  about  the  last  of  September,  and  found 
that  he  was  to  serve  under  an  officer  by  the  name  of 
Colonel  Romans,  who  had  arrived  on  the  ground 
with  a  small  working  force  about  a  month  earlier. 
He  was  assigned  to  the  duty  of  superintending  the 
details  of  labor  and  the  carrying  out  of  the  plans  of 
the  chief  engineer  in  respect  to  the  incipient  forti 
fications. 

While  strolling  around  the  rocky  island,  the  even 
ing  after  his  arrival,  he  soon  came  in  full  view  of 
the  extreme  point  of  land  on  the  western  shore, 
whereon  he  had  seen  such  a  strange  vision  a  few 


LARRY   MEETS   HIS   FATE.  95 

months  previous.  In  the  press  and  excitement  of 
succeeding  events,  the  circumstance  had  quite  faded 
from  his  memory;  but  now,  with  the  purpose  of 
diverting  his  mind  from  painful  thoughts,  he  decided 
to  solve  the  pretty  enigma  by  which  he  had  been  so 
unexpectedly  baffled.  He  made  some  inquiries  of 
the  small  garrison  with  whom  he  was  associated ; 
but  they,  like  himself,  were  newcomers,  and  knew 
nothing  of  the  few  inhabitants  of  the  region.  For 
several  days  he  was  too  much  occupied  with  the 
effort  to  obtain  the  mastery  of  his  duties  to  think 
of  aught  else,  and,  when  evening  came,  was  well 
contented  to  climb  some  rocky  point  on  the  island, 
and  rest,  while  he  enjoyed  the  wonderful  beauty  of 
the  landscape ;  for  this  historic  region  was  just  as 
weird  and  lovely  then  as  now,  when  it  is  admired 
by  thousands  of  tourists. 

But  one  warm  afternoon,  early  in  October,  he 
took  with  him  the  garrulous  Larry,  his  body-ser 
vant,  who  had  followed  the  fortunes  of  his  master, 
and  started  in  a  little  skiff  down  the  river  to  a  cot 
tage  on  the  western  bank,  which  he  had  noted  on 
his  journey  up.  This  might  be  the  home  of  the 
wood-nymph,  or  he  there  might  learn  something 
about  her. 

"  Come,  Larry,  I  want  time  for  a  little  shooting 
after  I  land,"  said  Saville,  impatiently ;  "  so  pull 
away,  and  I  will  steer,  for  the  tide  is  against  us." 

"  I'm  obleeged  to  yer  honor,"  replied  Larry,  dryly, 
tugging  at  the  oars;  "  there's  nothing  likedewision 
of  labor." 

"  You  can  rest  while  I  am  tramping  round  with 


96  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

my  gun,"  said  Saville,  who  gave  Larry  something  of 
the  license  of  a  court  jester.  "  I  shall  expect  you 
to  wait  for  me  where  I  leave  you,  so  that  there  may 
be  no  delay  in  our  return." 

"  Faix,  sur,  I  hope  ye's  gun  will  be  more  ready 
to  go  off  than  I'll  be,  arter  this  pull." 

Having  descended  the -river  half  a  mile  below  the 
foaming  cascade  now  known  as  Buttermilk  Falls, 
they  fastened  their  boat  and  ascended  the  bank  to 
the  cottage,  or,  more  correctly,  log  cabin. 

Saville  quickly  saw  enough  to  convince  him  that 
this  could  not  be  the  home  of  the  young  girl  who 
sang 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

A  huge,  fat  hog  reclined  in  the  sun  near  the  step, 
and  chickens  passed  in  and  out  of  the  door,  as  if 
they  had  equal  rights  with  the  family,  while  the 
cow-stable  formed  an  extension  to  the  dwelling,  and 
was  quite  as  well  built  as  the  rest  of  it.  Were  it  not 
for  his  wish  to  make  inquiries,  he  would  have  turned 
away  in  disgust. 

But  for  Larry  the  scene  appeared  to  have  un 
wonted  attractions.  With  arms  akimbo  he  struck  an 
attitudeof  admiring  contemplation, as  he  exclaimed, 

"  I'm  glad  I  come  wid  your  honor,  for  I've  seen 
nothink  so  swate  since  I  left  the  ould  counthry. 
Now,  isn't  that  a  beautiful  soight  ?  Pace  and  plenty  ! 
'Twas  jist  such  a  pig  as  that  as  grunted  at  me  fath 
er's  door.  Faix,  sur,  it  makes  me  a  bit  homesick  ;  " 
and  Larry's  shrewd,  twinkling  eyes  grew  moist  from 
early  memories. 


LARRY  MEETS   HIS   FATE. 


97 


As  they  proceeded  a  little  further,  Larry  saw  that 
which  proved  quite  as  attractive  to  him  as  the 
vision  of  Vera  had  been  to  Saville  a  few  months  be 
fore  ;  but  the  elements  of  mystery  and  romance  were 
wholly  wanting.  In  a  small  inclosure  back  of  the 
house  a  young  Irishwoman  was  digging  potatoes. 
As  the  men  approached,  she  leaned  leisurely  upon 
her  fork-handle,  and  stared  at  them  unblenchingly. 
Her  head  was  bare,  but  well  thatched  with  thick, 
tangled  tresses  which  were  a  little  too  fiery  to  be 
called  golden.  Her  eyes  were  dark,  expressive, 
and  bold ;  her  stout  arms  were  red  and  freckled, 
as  was  also  her  full  and  rather  handsome  face.  In 
simplicity  and  picturesqueness  no  fault  could  be 
found  with  her  dress,  for  it  appeared  to  consist 
only  of  a  red  petticoat  and  a  scant  blue  bodice  ; 
but  it  might  well  have  been  mended  at  several 
points.  Her  feet  and  ankles  were  as  bare  as  those 
of  Maud  Muller,  if  not  so  shapely  and  slender. 
But,  as  she  stood  there,  aglow  with  exercise,  in 
the  afternoon  sun,  she  seemed  to  Larry  a  genuine 
Irish  houri — the  most  perfect  flower  of  the  Green 
Isle  that  he  had  ever  seen  ;  and  he  hoped  that  his 
master,  who  had  accosted  an  old  woman  knitting 
in  the  doorway,  would  keep  him  waiting  indefi 
nitely,  so  that  he  might  make  the  acquaintance  of 
this  rare  creature. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  well,  madam,  and  enjoying 
the  fine  afternoon,"  began  Saville,  with  French 
suavity. 

"  Umph  ! "  responded  the  old  woman,  and  after 
looking  him  over  briefly,  went  on  with  her  knitting. 
5 


98  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

"  Have  you  any  neighbors  in  this  region  ?  "  asked 
Saville,  undaunted  by  his  forbidding  reception. 

"  Mighty  few  as  is  neighborly." 

"  But  there  are  other  families  living  near." 

"  A  small  sprinklin'." 

"  Haven't  you  some  neighbors  further  up  the 
river,  and  nearly  opposite  the  island  where  we  are 
building  the  fort  ?  " 

"  Indade,  an'  we  have  not.  Our  neighbors  be  da- 
cent  folks  who  own  their  land,  and  not  skulkin'  and 
hidin'  squatters." 

"  Would  you  mind  taking  a  shilling  for  a  bowl  of 
milk  ?  "  said  Saville,  pursuing  his  object  with  a  lit 
tle  finesse. 

"  Now  ye  talk  sinse,"  replied  the  old  woman,  ris 
ing.  "  No,  nor  two  on  'em.  I  ax  your  pardon"  for 
being  a  bit  offish,  for  I've  seen  sogers  in  the  ould 
counthry,  an'  no  good  came  o'  em.  Yer  grinnin' 
man  there  is  not  a  soger,  be  he  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  ;  Larry  is  a  man  of  peace.'' 

"  'Kase  I  want  'em  all  to  understand  that  if  any 
sogers  come  a  snoopin'  round  here  arter  Molly, 
they'll  be  arter  catchin'  me  'stead  o'  her." 

"  I  don't  think  any  will  come,  then,"  said  Saviile 
gravely.  u  But  I'm  sorry  you  give  your  neighbors 
up  the  river  such  a  bad  character." 

"  It's  not  meself  that  gives  'em  a  bad  character, 
but  their  own  bad  dades." 

"  Why,  what  have  they  done  ?  " 

'*  That's  more'n  any  one  knows  ;  sumpin'  the  ould 
man's  mighty  'shamed  on,  for  he  won't  look  honest 
folk  in  the  face ;  and  as  for  that  wild  hawk  of  a  gal 


LARRY  MEETS   HIS   FATE. 


99 


o'  his'n,  the  less  said  'bout  her  the  better ;  she's  kind 
of  a  witch,  anyhow,  and  'pears  and  dodges  out  o* 
sight  while  yer  winkin'.  She  needn't  turn  up  her 
nose  at  my  Molly  there,  that's  come  o'  dacent  folk." 

11  And  has  she  been  guilty  of  that  offense?  " 

"Dade  an'  she  has;  Molly  comes  'cross  her  now 
an'  thin,  out  berryin',  and  fust  she  tried  to  speak  her 
fair,  but  the  ill-mannered  crather  would  kinder  stare 
at  her  a  minute,  and  thin  vanish  in  a  flash.  She's 
iarnt  more  o'  that  ould  heathen  black  witch,  as  lives 
wid  'em,  than  anythin'  good." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  family?  " 

"  That,  too,  is  more'n  anybody  knows.  They 
calls  'emselves  '  Brown ; '  but  I  know  'tain't  their 
name ;  for  it  was  meself  that  did  a  bit  o'  washin'  for 
'em  once  when  the  woman  was  sick,  and  there  was 
two  names  on  the  linen,  but  nary  one  nor  tother  was 
Brown.  I  couldn't  jist  make  out  what  they  was, 
for  I  hain't  good  at  readin' ;  but  one  thing  is  sartin, 
husband  and  wife  don't  have  two  names." 

"  Have  they  done  anything  wrong  since  they 
came  here?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  they  are  robbin'  and  murderin' 
every  night,  and  yet  how  they  live  nobody  knows. 
But  it's  'nuff  that  they're  hathen;  they  did  widout 
the  praste  in  the  fust  place,  and  nary  a  thing  have 
they  had  to  do  wid  praste  or  parson  since.  The 
ould  black  witch  worships  the  divil,  for  Molly's 
seen  her  in  the  woods  a-goin'  on  as  would  make  yer 
har  stan'  up;  and  I'm  a-thinkin*  the  divil  will  git 
em  all  ;  an'  he  may,  for  all  o'  me." 

By  the  time  Saville  had  finished  his  bowl  of  bread 


100  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

and  milk,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  crone 
had  more  spite  and  prejudice  against  her  neighbors 
than  knowledge  of  them.  It  was  the  old  story 
of  resentment  on  the  part  of  the  ignorant  and  the 
vulgar  toward  superiority  and  exclusiveness.  It 
was  very  probable,  however,  that  some  guilty  secret 
of  the  past  led  to  this  utter  seclusion.  Saville  well 
knew  that  there  were  many  hiding  in  the  wilderness 
whose  antecedents  would  not  bear  much  light.  And 
yet  his  curiosity,  so  far  from  being  satisfied,  was 
only  piqued  the  more  by  the  old  woman's  dark  in 
timations.  Taking  his  gun,  he  said  to  Larry,  who 
was  now  digging  potatoes  vigorously, 

"  So  that  is  the  way  you  are  resting." 

"  Diggin'  praties  is  an  aisy  change,  and  kind  o' 
homelike  ;  and  thin,  yer  honor,  ye  wud  not  have-me 
a-standin'  like  a  great  lazy  lout,  while  a  fair  leddy 
was  a-workin'." 

"  Very  well ;  but  save  enough  muscle  to  row  me 
home."  And  he  went  back  upon  the  hills  in  quest 
of  game,  leaving  his  deeply  smitten  factotum  to  the 
wiles  of  Molly,  who,  with  hands  upon  her  hips,  con 
templated  his  chivalric  labors  in  her  behalf  with 
great  complacency. 

"  The  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  ye,"  Larry  had  said 
as  he  approached,  doffing  his  hat. 

"  Faix,  an  ye're  a  green  Irishman  not  to  know 
the  afthernoon  from  mornin',"  was  Molly's  rather 
brusque  greeting. 

"  The  sight  o'  ye  wud  make  any  time  o'  night  or 
day  seem  the  bright  mornin',"  was  Larry's  gallant 
rejoinder. 


LARRY  MEETS   HIS   FATE.  ioi 

"  Ye  kissed  the  blarney-stone  afore  ye  left  home, 
I'm  a-thinkin'." 

"  An'  ye'll  let  me  kiss  yer  own  red  lips,  I'll  dig 
all  these  praties  for  ye." 

"  I  see  ye're  good  at  a  sharp  bargain,  if  ye  be  a 
bit  green.  But  I'll  wait  till  ye  dig  the  praties." 

"  But  ye'll  give  me  jist  one  buss  when  I'm  half 
through,  to  kinder  stay  me  stomach." 

"  There's  plenty  lads  as  wud  be  glad  to  dig  the 
praties  for  me  widout  a-drivin'  hard  bargains  for 
it." 

11  So  they'll  tell  yees  afther  the  praties  is  dug. 
They'll  be  very  swate  about  it  whin  the  cowld 
snow  kivers  the  ground." 

"  An'  ye  think  ye're  very  swate  about  it  now," 
said  Molly,  with  her  head  coquettishly  on  one  side. 

"  No,  but  I'm  a-hopin'  ye'll  be  swate  about  it." 

"  What's  yer  name,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Larry  O'Flarharty ;  an'  ye  may  have  it  yerself 
any  day  that  ye'll  go  wid  me  to  the  praste." 

"  Is  that  what  ye  say  to  every  gal  ye  mate  ?  " 

11  Faix,  an'  it  is  not.  It's  to  yerself  that  I've  fust 
said  it." 

"  Ye're  better  at  talkin'  than  doin'.  I  thought  I'd 
git  at  least  one  hill  o'  praties  dug  by  yees." 

"  Give  me  the  fork,  thin,  and  I'll  show  ye  that 
Larry  O'Flarharty  can  take  care  o'  ye  and  a  dozen 
childer  into  the  bargain." 

"  Och,  ye  spalpeen !  Ye'll  have  me  coorted, 
married,  and  a  gran'mother,  afore  ye  git  a  praty 
out  the  dirt." 

Larry  set  about  his  labor  of  love  with  such  zeal 


102  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

that  the  potatoes  fairly  hopped  out  of  the  ground, 
carroling,  as  he  worked, 

"  I'll  dress  ye  up  in  silks  so  foine, 
An*  ye  shall  drink  the  best  o'  woine. 
Be  jabers  !  but  we'll  cut  a  shoine 
The  day  when  what's  yer  name  is  moine." 

How's   that   for  a   dilicate  way   of    axing   ye    yet 
name  ?" 

"  What  do  I  want  of  a  name  since  ye're  goin'  to 
give  me  yourn  ?  " 

"  What  shall  I  call  ye  till  the  happy  day  comes  ?  " 

11  Molly,  for  short." 

"  Let  it  be  for  short,  thin,  and  not  for  long." 

"  D'ye  think  I  wud  marry  a  man  o*  all  work  ?  I'm 
goin'  to  marry  a  gallant  soger  boy." 

"  No  ye  hain't,  nayther,"  struck  in  her  mother, 
whose  age  had  evidently  not  impaired  her  hearing. 

Molly  gave  her  head  a  defiant  toss  which  indicated 
that  the  maternal  leading-strings  had  parted  long 
ago.  Larry  paused  abruptly  in  his  work,  and  lean 
ing  his  chin  on  the  fork-handle,  asked, 

"  Are  ye  sarious  about  that  now  ?  " 

"  Ah,  go  on  wid  yer  work  and  sthop  yer  foolin'," 
said  Molly,  who  saw  that  she  had  made  a  false  move 
in  her  little  game  to  get  her  potatoes  dug  by  another. 

"  Divil  a  praty  will  I  dig  till  ye  tell  me." 

"  Divil  another  shall  ye  dig  any  way,  ye  impudent 
spalpeen!  "  retorted  Molly,  who  was  touchy  as  gun 
powder  ;  and  she  took  the  fork  out  of  his  hands,  and 
turning  her  back  upon  him,  struck  it  into  the  potato 
hillocks  as  only  a  spiteful  termagant  could.  Discom- 


LARRY   MEETS   HIS   FATE.  IO3 

fited  Larry  in  the  mean  time  perched  himself  on  the 
fence,  that  he  might  take  an  observation,  and  hold  a 
council  of  war  in  his  own  mind.  But  the  more  he 
looked  the  more  the  charms  of  this  wonderful  crea 
ture  grew  upon  him,  and  his  soft,  impressible  heart 
became  as  wax.  He  soon  hopped  down  from  his 
rail,  and  said, 

"  Come  now,  Molly  darlint,  what's  the  .use  o' 
a-goin'  agin  fate  ?  Ye  shall  marry  a  soger  bhoy,  I  see 
that  by  the  cut  of  yer  perty  jib,  as  the  sailors  say. 
Ye've  spunk  and  fire  enough  for  a  rigiment.  Give 
me  the  fork  agin,  and  one  o'  yer  own  swate  smiles." 

"  Well,  since  ye're  a  sort  o'  baste  o'  burden,  an' 
loike  workin'  better  nor  fightin',  ye  may  have  yer 
way." 

"  Faix,  an'  I  will  be  a  baste  wid  the  burden  of 
a  sore  an'  heavy  heart,  if  ye  talk  to  me  in  that 
way." 

Molly  could  come  out  of  a  pet  as  quickly  as  she 
fell  into  it,  and  so  she  said, 

"  I'll  be  swate  thin  till  ye  git  the  praties  dug." 

"  Yis,  an'  many  a  long  day  afther.  I  know  the 
soger  bhoy*ye're  goin*  to  marry." 

"  No,  ye  don't." 

"  Yis,  I  do." 

"  What's  his  name?" 

"  Larry  O'Flarharty.  The  masther  may  git  a  new 
man,  for  I'm  goin'  to  'list.  The  nixt  time  ye  see  me, 
I'll  be  a  gay  and  gallant  soger  bhoy.  I'll " 

"  Hush,  mother's  comin'." 

Larry  delved  after  the  potatoes  as  if  they  were 
halfway  down  to  China. 


104  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

The  old  woman  looked  sharply  and  suspiciously  at 
them,  but  only  said, 

"  Molly,  go  afther  the  cows." 

"  I'll  go  wid  ye,"  cried  Larry,  throwing  down  the 
fork. 

"  No  ye  won't,"  retorted  the  old  woman;  "  yer 
masther  tould  ye  to  bide  here  till  he  come." 

"  I'm  a-thinkm'  I'll  be  me  own  masther,"  said  Larry, 
straightening  himself  up  ;  "  everybody's  gittin'  free 
an*  indepindent,  and  I'll  thry  a  hand  at  it  meself." 

"  Go  along  and  git  'em  yerself,  mother,"  added 
Molly,  who  began  to  entertain  some  thoughts  of  her 
own  in  regard  to  this  ardent  admirer  that  was  so 
subservient  to  her  will  and  moods.  "  They  hain't 
far  off;  and  ye  wud  not  have  me  treat  the  man  what 
has  been  a-workin*  for  me  all  the  afthernoon  so  oncivil 
as  to  lave  him  alone.  Go  along,  and  we'll  have  the 
praties  dug  agin  ye  git  back." 

The  old  woman  was  in  straits  what  to  do,  since  in 
either  case  she  must  leave  her  daughter  alone  with 
one  at  least  nearly  connected  with  the  dreaded 
"  sogers  ;  "  but  at  last  she  hobbled  grumblingly  after 
the  cows,  the  tinkle  of  whose  bells  proclaimed  them 
near. 

With  the  usual  perverseness  of  human  nature, 
Molly  grew  friendly  toward  the  soldiers  as  her 
mother  showed  prejudice  against  them.  The  more 
she  learned  about  their  life,  the  more  attractive  its 
publicity,  vicissitudes,  and  excitement  became  to  her 
bold,  restless  spirit,  and  she  had  already  resolved  to 
enter  the  camp  in  some  capacity  at  the  earliest  pos 
sible  moment.  The  thought  now  occurred  to  her 


LARRY  MEETS   HIS  FATE.  105 

that  perhaps  she  might  find,  in  this  plastic,  garrulous 
stranger,  just  the  chance  she  hoped  for.  Molly  was 
aware  of  her  infirmity  of  temper,  and  if  she  could 
find  a  "soger"  that  could  be  kept  submissively 
under  her  thumb,  she  would  consider  herself  blessed 
with  better  luck  than  she  had  ever  dared  to  expect. 

Larry  made  his  first  favorable  impression  when  he 
good-naturedly  dismounted  from  his  rail,  and  recom 
menced  the  work  which  she  was  ready  enough  to  leave 
to  him ;  and  she  was  not  long  in  coming  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  if  this  pliable  and  useful  man  of  all  work 
could  be  transformed  into  a  regular  soldier,  and  then 
be  captured  as  a  sort  of  base  of  operations,  which 
would  enable  her  to  lead  a  free,  wild,  rollicking  life, 
she  had  better  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity. 
But  she  went  direct  to  her  point  with  feminine  indi 
rectness,  and  so  when  her  mother  was  out  of  hearing, 
said, 

"  Ye're  not  brave  enough  to  be  a  soger." 

"  An'  ye  are  not  brave  enough  to  marry  one." 

"  Some  foine  day,  when  ye're  a-blackin'  yer  mas- 
ther's  boots,  ye'll  find  yerself  mistaken,  forye'llsee 
me  a-walkin'  into  camp  the  wife  o'  the  handsomest 
man  o'  the  lot  o'  yees." 

"  Now  what  do  ye  mane  be  that  ?"  asked  Larry, 
abruptly  suspending  his  labors,  while  his  chin  and 
troubled  phiz  again  surmounted  the  fork-handle. 

"  I  mane,"  said  Molly  yawning,  "  that  I'm  only 
a-waitin'  to  make  up  me  mind  which  of  me  soger 
swatehearts  to  take." 

"  An'  how  many  have  ye,  sure  ?  "  said  Larry,  in 
something  like  dismay. 
5* 


106  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

"  Oh  !  sumthin'  less  than  a  dozen." 

"  But  ye  hain't  made  up  yer  mind  on  any  on  'em 
yit  ?  "  queried  the  anxious  lover. 

"  Well,  not  yit.  There's  two  or  three  on  em  I 
could  worry  along  wid  if  I  thried." 

;t  Yis,  an'  it  would  be  worryin'  along,  Molly,  me 
dear;  while  wid  me  ye'd  be  happy  as  a  quane." 

"  But  I  telled  ye  afore  I  was  goin'  to  marry  a 
soger." 

"  And  I  telled  ye  afore  I  was  a-goin'  to  be  a  soger." 

"  Yis,  a-goin'  an'  a-goin',  but  I'll  belave  it  when  I 
see  it." 

"  An'  one  wake  from  this  day  ye  will  see  it,"  pro 
tested  Larry,  with  hearty  emphasis. 

"  Now  ye  begin  ter  talk  a  little  sinse,"  said  Molly, 
more  complacently.  "Well,  well,  I'll  thry  ye,  and 
give  ye  an  aven  start  wid  me  other  swatehearts.  If 
ye're  down  by  the  wather  a  wake  from  this  afther- 
noon  dressed  as  a  gay  soger  boy,  I'll  think  ye  mane 
sumthin',  but  all  yer  foine  words  now  is  loike  spilt 
wather." 

"  Och,  Molly,  me  darlint,"  cried  Larry,  and  pitch 
ing  away  his  fork,  he  threw  his  arms  around  the 
bewitching  creature,  and  took  full  payment  for  his 
labor  of  the  afternoon. 

"  Hold  on,  Larry,"  cried  his  master,  who  had  re 
turned  just  in  time  to  witness  this  last  demonstration  ; 
"  hold  on,  or  you  will  never  be  able  to  row  me  back 
to  camp." 

"  Faix,  yer  honor,"  said  Larry,  somewhat  abashed 
that  his  gallantry  had  been  observed,  "  I  fale  much 
refreshed." 


LARRY   MEETS   HIS   FATE. 


107 


"  Well,  come  along,  then ;  it's  time  we  were 
off." 

"  Good-by,  thin,  Molly,  me  dear,  for  one  long 
wake." 

"  Ye're  nothin'  but  a  wild  Irishman,"  said  Molly, 
half  angry,  and  half  laughing;  "but  mind  ye,  come 
in  the  toggery  I  tould  ye  on,  or  don't  ye  come  at 
all." 

"  Don't  ye  fear.  Whin  I  come  agin,  yer  other 
swatehearts  will  be  like  the  stars  when  the  sun  comes 
over  the  mountain." 

"  An'  hist !  "  continued  Molly ;  "  don't  ye  come  up 
to  the  house,  or  mother'll  take  yer  life.  I'll  mate 
ye  at  the  wather." 

That  night  Larry  made  known  his  purpose  to 
enlist  at  once.  In  vain  Saville  protested.  Like  the 
immortal  Romeo,  Larry  had  found  his  Juliet,  and 
was  in  feverish  haste  to  don  the  uniform  that  would 
give  him  an  "  aven  sthart  wid  the  other  spalpeens 
of  swatehearts,"  whose  imagined  rivalry,  Molly  had 
shrewdly  guessed,  would  be  a  most  powerful  incen 
tive  to  prompt  action. 

"  But  don't  ye  mind,  yer  honor;  it's  in  the  'tillery 
I'm  goin'  to  'list,  and  so  I  can  do  yer  odd  jobs  jist 
the  same." 

"  Are  you  goipg  to  marry  that  carroty-headed 
girl  over  there  ?  " 

"If  ye  spake  of  the  swate  crathur  in  that  way, 
divil  a  turn  will  I  do  for  ye  agin." 

"  Mark  my  words,  Larry,  you  are  giving  up  one 
master  to  find  a  harder  one,"  at  which  his  quondam 
servant  went  growling  and  muttering  away. 


IOS  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

Larry  was  true  to  his  tryst,  and  the  reader  may  be 
assured  that  the  strategic  Molly  was  not  absent. 
After  two  or  three  meetings,  in  which  she  nearly 
tormented  the  poor  fellow  out  of  his  senses,  with 
fear  and  jealousy  of  the  mythical "  swatehearts  "  who 
were  just  about  to  carry  her  off,  Molly  permitted 
the  entrancing  concession  to  be  wrung  from  her,  "  I 
will  stale  away  wid  ye  to  the  praste,  if  I  kin  only  git 
a  pair  o'  shoes." 

Having  received  this  sweet  assurance  of  affections 
won,  Larry,  on  his  return,  made  pacific  overtures  to 
his  former  master. 

"  Ye  know  that  I  served  ye  long  and  faithfully." 
,  "  Well,  that  will  do  for  preface.     What  do  you 
want  now,  Larry  ?  " 

"  Faix,  sur,  an'  if  ye'll  give  me  a  pair  o'  yer 
shoes,  I'll  do  many  a  good  turn  to  pay  for  'em." 

"  With  all  respect  for  your  understanding,  Larry, 
I  don't  think  they'll  fit  you." 

"  I've  taken  the  measure  of  a  fut  as  they  will  fit 
yer  honor." 

"  Oh !  I  see  now ;  yes,  yes,  there  are  the  shoes 
and  by  the  way,  Larry,   I  have  a  pair  of  leather 
breeches    which    you    may   take   her   also ;  for  she 
struck  me  as  one  who  would  be  sure  to  wear  them 
before  long." 

"  Bless  yer  honor,  ye  mustn't  judge  all  the 
women  o'  the  world  by  yer  own  bad  luck."  And 
with  this  home-thrust,  Larry  went  chuckling  away 
with  the  shoes  that  were  to  consummate  his  happi 
ness. 

Before  a  week  of  wedded  bliss  had  passed,  the 


LARRY   MEETS   HIS   FATE.  IOg 

newly  fledged  artilleryman  found  that  he  had,  indeed, 
exchanged  his  old  master  for  a  more  exacting  one\ 
and  he  dubbed  the  redoubtable  Molly  "  captain," 
long  before  she  won  the  title  by  her  military 
prowess. 


10  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 


CHAPTER   IX. 
LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE. 

THE  changes  that  war  was  about  to  make,  in  the 
wild  and  secluded  region  which  Vera's  father 
had  chosen  as  his  retreat  and  hiding-place,  soon 
began  to  manifest  themselves.  The  arrival  of  the 
engineer,  Colonel  Romans,  with  his  working  force, 
at  Constitution  Island,  was  discovered  almost  imme 
diately  by  the  young  girl,  while  out  upon  one  of  her 
excursions,  in  the  latter  part  of  August.  Nor  could 
the  advent  of  the  soldiery  be  kept  from  her  father, 
as  the  morning  and  evening  guns,  and  the  notes  of 
the  drum  and  fife,  announced  their  presence,  with 
startling  distinctness,  in  the  quiet  summer  air. 

At  first  the  morbid  and  conscience-stricken  man 
was  in  great  excitement  and  alarm,  and,  with  the 
tendency  common  to  persons  in  his  condition,  con 
nected  the  unlooked-for  event  with  danger  to  him 
self.  His  fears  led  him  to  propose  that  they  should 
all  leave  their  home,  and  seek  some  more  secluded 
spot  far  back  in  the  mountains  ;  but  for  once  his 
meek  and  gentle  wife  was  firm  in  her  opposition  to 
his  will.  She  saw  that  her  husband's  mind  had 
become  so  warped  that  it  was  no  longer  capable  of 
correct  judgment  in  any  matter  where  his  fears  were 
concerned.  The  reason  for  the  military  occupation 


LEFT    TO   NATURE'S    CARE.  m 

of  the  island  opposite  she  had  not  yet  learned,  but 
could  not  see  how  it  necessarily  threatened  them 
with  danger.  Moreover,  her  desire  that  Vera  might 
form  acquaintances,  who  could  rescue  her  eventually 
from  a  seclusion  that  might  at  last  leave  the  girl 
utterly  alone  in  the  world,  increased  daily.  In  spite 
of  her  false  hopes,  which  were  a  part  of  her  disease, 
and  an  earnest  desire  to  live,  she  had  failed  so  rap 
idly,  during  the  oppressive  heats  of  summer,  that 
vague  fears  for  the  future  often  gave  her  great  un 
easiness.  She  clearly  recognized  her  husband's 
growing  distemper  of  mind,  and  old  Gula  was  still 
less  to  be  depended  upon.  How  could  she  leave  her 
child  so  friendless  and  unshielded  ? 

In  her  terrible  anxiety,  the  gentle  creature  would 
at  times,  become  almost  stern  and  fierce  in  her  ap 
peals  to  heaven,  crying : 

"•O  God  !  as  thou  art  good  and  true,  preserve 
my  child,  and  bring  her  to  me  at  last,  pure  and  un 
spotted  from  the  world.  I  commit  her  to  thy  care, 
and  I  hold  thee  to  thy  many  promises." 

While  her  growing  weakness  made  it  apparent, 
even  to  her  husband,  that  she  could  not  be  moved, 
and  he  was  thus  induced  to  remain  in  his  present 
home,  he  continued  steady  and  unrelenting  in  his 
determination  that  no  acquaintances  should  be 
formed  with  the  new-comers.  Of  this  purpose  Vera. 
and  her  mother  had  a  very  disheartening  illustration 
about  the  middle  of  October. 

One  day,  just  as  they  were  about  to  sit  down  to 
their  meagre  dinner,  the  two  nuge  dogs  bounded  out 
from  the  door-step,  with  Geicest  clamor. 


H2  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

Mr.  Brown,  as  he  may  be  called  at  present,  sprang 
up,  and  was  only  in  time  to  prevent  a  conflict  be 
tween  a  stranger  and  the  savage  beasts. 

Vera  also  ran  to  the  door,  in  order  to  see  the  cause 
of  the  alarm,  and  her  heart  throbbed  quickly,  as 
she  recognized  in  the  stranger  the  young  man  who 
had  surprised  her,  in  the  manner  already  described, 
while  fishing. 

"  Back,  Tiger  and  Bull,"  said  their  master;  and, 
as  the  dogs  reluctantly  obeyed,  he  advanced  with  a 
dignity  which  Saville  was  quick  to  recognize,  and 
said,  coldly, 

"  Have  you  any  special  business  with  me?" 

The  young  man  commenced  replying  suavely,  and 
in  a  manner  which  he  hoped  would  pave  the  way  to 
an  acquaintance;  but,  still  more  coldly  and  sternly, 
came  the  interrupting  question  : 

"  Have  you  any  business  with  me,  sir?" 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  have,  save  that  as  a  tempo 
rary  neighbor  I  would  be  glad  to  show  myself  neigh 
borly." 

The  man  regarded  him  suspiciously,  but  con 
tinued,  with  the  same  repelling  coldness, 

"You  have  the  bearing  of  a  gentleman." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  the  character  and  standing  of 
one." 

"  I  shall  put  that  assertion  to  the  test,"  Aras  the 
forbidding  ;  response  ;  "  and  if  you  fail  to  make  it 
good,  I  shall  know  how  to  act  hereafter.  I  desire 
seclusion  for  myself  and  family.  This  cottage, 
though  very  humble,  is  my  castle,  and  I  regard  any 
visits  to  it  or  to  this  locality  as  an  intrusion." 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  113 

Saville  flushed  deeply,  for,  if  this  man  were  a 
guilty  outlaw,  he  could  assume  a  hauteur  and  lofti 
ness  which  were  oppressive.  He  felt  almost  as  if  an 
ancient  baron  were  ordering  him,  as  a  poacher,  off 
his  grounds.  But  in  the  face  of  Vera,  who  stood 
excited,  trembling,  in  the  doorway,  he  thought  he 
detected  a  different  and  friendly  expression  ;  so  he 
made  one  more  effort  to  remove  the  suspicious  ex- 
clusiveness  of  the  father. 

"  But  suppose  I  come  in  the  spirit  of  kindliness," 
he  said. 

"  I  thought  I  made  it  clear  that  I  desired  no  visits 
whatever,'  was  the  stern  reply. 

"  You  are  unwise,  sir,"  said  Saville  with  corre 
sponding  haughtiness.  "  I  am  an  officer  and  a  gen 
tleman,  and  as  such  might  have  extended  protection 
to  you  and  your  family.  This  region  will  soon  be 
come  full  of  armed  men,  and  how  can  you  escape 
visits  from  the  rude  soldiery,  who  may  not  always 
be  over-scrupulous?" 

"  They  will  come  at  peril  to  life  and  limb,"  said 
the  man  savagely  \-  and  he  began  to  show  symptoms 
of  great  agitation. 

Saville  saw  that  the  young  girl's  eyes  had  over 
flowed  with  tears,  that  her  hands  were  clasped,  and 
that  her  whole  manner  was  a  mute  appeal.  But 
whether  it  was  to  leave  them  at  once,  or  to  give, 
unasked,  the  protection  against  the  danger  at  which 
he  had  hinted,  and  which  her  father  had  so  harshly 
refused,  he  could  not  tell.  He  also  saw  that  the 
man  was  becoming  excited  and  dangerous,  and  that 
the  dogs,  quickly  catching  their  master's  spirit,  were 


H4  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

bristling  toward  him.  Vera  sprang  down  with 
words  of  rebuke,  and  soon  had  the  fierce  animals 
crouching  at  her  feet.  As  she  stood  between  them 
in  her  simplicity  and  unconscious  beauty,  tears  gem 
ming  her  eyes  like  dew  upon  violets,  she  made  a 
picture  that  Saville  did  not  soon  forget. 

With  a  silent  bow  and  smile  to  her,  which  she  re 
turned  by  a  grave  and  graceful  inclination,  he  turned 
away,  and  soon  disappeared  among  the  trees.  He 
had  seen  enough,  however,  to  kindle  his  vivid  imagi 
nation,  and  on  his  way  back  among  the  hills,  in 
search  of  game,  indulged  in  many  wild  surmises  in 
regard  to  the  people  who  so  resolutely  secluded 
themselves.  But  he  could  scarcely  fail  in  reaching 
the  conclusion  that  fear  was  the  motive,  and  that 
the  man  was  hiding  from  the  consequences  of  some 
act  of  the  past,  the  discovery  of  which  would  lead 
to  terrible  punishment.  It  was  still  more  certain 
that  he  had  belonged  to  the  superior  and  educated 
classes,  for  his  unkempt  appearance  and  rude  attire 
could  not  disguise  his  proud  and  stately  bearing. 
At  the  same  time,  even  the  brief  glimpse  that  Saville 
had  caught  of  the  externals  of  the  cabin,  proved 
that  some  one  dwelt  there  who  had  an  eye  and  a 
love  for  beauty. 

The  rude  logs  were  prettily  disguised  by  crim 
son  festoons  of  the  American  ivy.  Clumps  of  eglan 
tine  with  equally  brilliant  foliage  stood  on  either 
side  of  the  open  door,  through  which  he  could  see 
a  little  of  the  rustic  decoration  within.  The  im 
pression,  however,  that  the  man  was  a  criminal, 
'chilled  his  desire  for  personal  acquaintance,  and 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  Irij 

save  some  generous  pity  that  the  fair  young  girl 
should  be  left  to  develop  under  such  forbidding 
circumstances,  he  soon  became  indifferent  to  the  in 
mates  of  the  cabin  from  which  he  had  been  so 
rudely  repelled.  With  the  exception  of  the  maiden, 
the  other  inmates  were  probably  subjects  for  the 
detective  and  constable.  Whether  right  or  wrong, 
Saville  was  as  open  as  the  day,  and  had  no  taste  for 
mysteries  or  crime. 

But  the  results  of  his  attempted  visit  were  not  so 
slight  or  transient  in  the  little  cabin  among  the  moun 
tains.  Vera,  and  especially  her  mother,  were  bitterly 
disappointed.  To  the  latter  it  seemed  as  if  a  provi 
dential  opportunity  of  gaining  some  hold  on  the  out 
side  world  had  been  lost ;  and  when  her  husband 
became  calmer,  she  so  remonstrated  with  him  that  he 
half  regretted  his  own  action.  But  the  trouble  was 
that  he  could  not  be  depended  on,  for  when  his  mind 
had  been  enabled  for  a  moment  to  struggle  toward 
a  correct  judgment,  another  dark  and  engulfing  wave 
of  fear  would  sweep  over  it,  carrying  him  back  into 
the  depths  of  his  old  despondency  and  morbid  dread 
of  strangers. 

But  the  remark  of  Saville,  that  the  region  would 
soon  be  filled  with  armed  men,  while  it  greatly  in 
creased  his  uneasiness,  also  kindled  a  faint  gleam  oi 
hope.  In  his  occasional  expeditions  to  distant  vil 
lages  for  the  purpose  of  barter,  he  had  heard  faint 
mutterings  of  the  storm  that  had  now  broken  over 
the  land.  The  only  hints  which  he  had  obtained 
were  from  the  casual  remarks  of  others,  for  he  had 
feared  to  ask  questions,  as  this  would  give  the  right 


Il6  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

to  question  him.  He  was  regarded,  at  the  few  places 
where  he  traded,  as  an  odd,  half-deranged  man,  and 
received  but  little  thought  or  attention.  Indeed,  it 
was  his  policy  to  assume  something  like  imbecility 
on  all  matters  save  that  of  securing  a  fair  return  for 
his  merchandise. 

The  few  expressions  which  he  had  happened  to 
hear,  indicating  trouble  between  England  and  her 
colonies,  had  made  but  little  impression  on  him, 
however,  as  the  idea  that  there  could  be  any  resist 
ance  to  her  mighty  power  never  entered  his  mind. 
But  now  what  else  could  the  presence  of  so  many 
soldiers  mean,  save  resistance  ?  Were  the  soldiers 
that  had  already  come,  and  that  were  coming,  under 
British  rule  or  hostile  to  it  ?  If  they  were  English 
troops,  nothing  could  induce  him  to  remain.  If 
they  were  American  forces  in  armed  rebellion,  then 
there  would  be  hope  that  in  their  success  he  might 
finally  escape  the  jurisdiction  of  English  law.  His 
mind  became  so  far  aroused  and  clear  that  he  was 
enabled  to  act  intelligently,  though  characteristically. 
Instead  of  going  over  to  Constitution  Island,  where 
he  might  readily  have  learned  the  situation,  he  pre 
pared  a  large  pack  of  articles  for  barter,  and  started 
for  a  distant  village  down  the  river.  Here  he  assumed 
his  old,  stolid  manner  ;  but  he  heard  enough  to  so 
stimulate  his  curiosity  and  awaken  his  hopes  that  he 
at  last  brought  himself  to  question  an  old  and  inof 
fensive-appearing  man  who  was  working  alone  in  his 
garden.  Learning  from  him  the  principal  facts  which 
had  thus  far  transpired,  and  the  open  resistance  into 
which  the  colonies  had  gradually  passed,  he  started 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE. 


117 


for  home  in  a  state  of  wild  and  almost  exultant  ex 
citement.  At  first,  he  half  proposed  to  take  an  open 
part  in  the  struggle.  But  long  before  he  reached  his 
cabin,  the  old  wave  of  morbid  fear  returned,  and  the 
habit  of  secretiveness,  and  disposition  to  shrink  from 
every  one,  resumed  their  mastery.  He  decided  to 
remain  in  his  present  home  as  a  post  of  observation. 

"  I'll  wait  and  see  what  headway  the  rebellion 
makes,"  he  muttered  ;  "  for  if  it  fails  after  I  have 
committed  myself  to  it,  I  am  lost  utterly."  The  man 
had  become  such  a  wreck  of  his  former  self  that  his 
only  thought  was  for  his  own  personal  safety.  His 
terrible  secret  had  seemingly  blasted  every  generous 
and  noble  trait  with  its  deadly  shade. 

During  his  absence,  Vera  and  her  mother  ardently 
hoped  that  the  young  stranger  might  come  again. 
Vera  even  went  down  to  the  shore,  and  looked  wist 
fully  at  the  island  opposite,  from  which  the  din  of 
labor  on  the  fortifications  came  faintly  across  the 
river.  But  she  saw  not  the  one  to  whom  she  now 
felt  she  could  almost  find  courage  to  speak,  and  ask 
for  that  protection  which  he  had  intimated  they 
might  need. 

During  the  summer  and  autumn,  they  had  been 
left  utterly  alone.  Even  Vera,  in  her  youth  and 
inexperience,  had  become  alarmed  at  her  mother's 
feebleness  and  hacking  cough,  and  her  thoughtful 
efforts  to  alleviate  and  help  were  as  pathetic  as  they 
were  beautiful.  She  felt  that  they  had  a  very  trying 
winter  before  them,  and  knew  that  her  father  could 
be  depended  upon  less  and  less  as  a  support.  But 
she  induced  him  to  repair  the  cellar  under  the  cabin, 


U8  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

so  that  the  vegetables  from  a  small  garden  might  be 
stored  securely.  She  also  had  persuaded  him  to  en 
large  a  spring  near  the  house  into  a  little  pond,  and 
in  this  her  skill  enabled  her  to  place  quite  a  number 
of  fish.  She  did  her  best  to  follow  the  example  of 
her  wild  playmates  of  the  woods,  that  were  busy 
most  of  the  time  in  providing  against  the  cold,  dark 
days  to  come,  and  she  even  diminished  the  squirrels' 
hoards,  by  the  quantities  of  nuts  which  she  gathered 
and  dried  for  winter  use.  She  also  carefully  noted 
the  haunts  of  rabbits,  partridges,  and  quails,  and  pre 
pared  traps  and  snares  which  could  be  used  when  the 
snow  covered  the  ground. 

But,  as  the  autumn  winds  sighed  through  the 
mountains,  she  sighed  also  ;  for  a  strange  depression 
and  boding  of  evil  was  stealing  over  her.  Her  face, 
which  had  been  full  of  sunshine  and  mirthfulness 
even  in  darkest  days,  grew  unwontedly  thoughtful 
and  oppressed  with  care  ;  but  her  features  were  none 
the  less  lovely,  as  they  began  to  express  womanly 
solicitude  and  responsibility  instead  of  a  child's 
light-hearted  confidence.  In  her  mother's  presence 
she  ever  sought,  however,  to  maintain  her  cheerful 
hopefulness.  But  the  mother's  love  pierced  all  dis 
guises,  and  it  was  one  of  the  bitterest  drops  in  her 
overflowing  cup  that  her  child  should  be  so  early 
and  heavily  burdened. 

The  bond  of  clinging  affection  appeared  to  grow 
stronger  and  tenderer  between  mother  and  daughter, 
as  their  relations  toward  each  other  changed,  and 
Vera  began  to  give  the  failing  parent  the  care  she 
had  once  received  herself.  There  were  days  when  the 


LEFT    TO   NATURE'S    CARE.  119 

poor  woman  could  scarcely  leave  her  bed,  and  then 
Vera's  every  touch  was  a  caress.  But  the  bracing 
air  of  autumn  and  winter  appeared  to  agree  with 
the  invalid  better  than  the  relaxing  heat  of  summer. 
The  generous  diet  of  game  which  Vera  carefully 
prepared  did  much  also  to  keep  up  her  strength. 
But  perhaps  her  gain  in  vigor  was  due  to  the  element 
of  hope  which  her  sympathetic  spirit  caught  from 
her  husband  ;  for  he  had  at  once  informed  his  wife 
of  the  struggle  that  was  commencing  with  the  Power 
he  dreaded,  and  both  felt  that  in  its  success  would 
come  a  calming  sense  of  security.  The  wife  urged 
her  husband  to  take  an  open  part  in  the  conflict, 
correctly  judging  that  daily  contact  with  others 
would  be  the  best  antidote  against  his  habit  of  mor 
bid  brooding ;  but  in  his  unnaturally  developed 
caution  and  shrinking  fear  of  discovery,  the  man  was 
not  equal  to  this,  and,  for  the  time,  only  became  a 
secret  and  anxious  watcher  of  the  events  which  he 
hoped  might  work  out  his  deliverance.  The  habit 
of  suspiciously  shunning  every  one  had  grown  to 
be  a  disease.  Indeed,  so  warped  had  he  become 
that  he  began  to  dread  lest  his  wife — the  only  one  in 
this  land  who  knew  "his  dire  secret — mig'ht  reveal  it 

o 

to  Vera  in  some  unguarded  moment ;  and  at  times  he 
even  harshly  cautioned  her  against  such  a  possibility. 
Thus  the  winter  passed  rather  sadly  and  drearily 
away.  Vera's  powers  were  taxed  to  their  utmost  as 
nurse,  watcher,  and  housekeeper.  Her  father  also 
had  bad  days  when  nothing  could  induce  him  to  leave 
his  dusky  corner,  and  then  her  hands  and  feet  were 
pinched  with  cold,  as  she  visited  the  traps  and  snares 


120  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S    HEART. 

among  the  hills,  carrying  the  fowling-piece  also,  in 
order  that  their  meagre  larder  might  not  become 
utterly  bare. 

In  the  midst  of  her  deepening  anxiety  and  increas 
ing  burdens  her  mystic  sympathy  with  nature  in 
creased,  and  she  found  comfort  and  companionship 
even  in  the  wintry  landscape.  Bible  ideas  and 
imagery  blended  with  what  she  saw  around  her. 
As  with  the  lightness  of  a  fawn  she  bounded  through 
the  newly  fallen  snow,  she  would  exclaim  with  an 
ecstatic  thrill  of  hope, 

"  My  robe,  one  day,  will  be  as  white  and  sparkling, 
and  the  gems  in  my  crown  brighter  than  the  icicle's 
gleam  hanging  over  yonder  ledge  of  rocks.  God 
teaches  me,  even  in  winter,  by  such  pretty  things, 
what  He  is  preparing  for  His  children." 

When  at  times  every  branch,  spray,  and  twig  was 
encased  with  snow,  and  the  evergreens  were  bend 
ing  beneath  their  fleecy  burdens,  she  would  be  half 
wild  with  delight  at  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and 
would  cheer  her  mother  by  saying, 

"  See  what  God  can  do  in  a  single  night.  Won't 
our  mansions  in  heaven,  which  "we  so  often  read 
about,  be  beautiful,  mother?  for  he  has  had  ever  so 
many  years  in  which  to  prepare  them.  Don't  you 
think  he  is  making  them  prettier  all  the  time?" 

"Yes,  Vera,"  her  mother  would  reply;  "as  we 
grow  better,  God  makes  them  prettier.  Never  dis 
trust  Him,  for  you  see  what  He  can  do  even  in  this 
world  which  is  so  full  of  evil  and  trouble." 

Thus,  every  beautiful  object  in  nature  became  to 
the  young  girl  an  evidence  of  her  Heavenly  Father's 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  I2I 

good-will  and  love,  and  an  assurance  that  He  would 
fulfill  at  last  all  the  wonderful  promises  of  the  Bible. 
And  dark  and  dreary  days,  and  disagreeable  things^ 
were  expressions  of  the  evil  in  the  world,  from  which, 
she  had  His  promise  also,  that  she  should  be  pro 
tected,  and  finally  delivered. 

Often,  when  the  cold,  bitter  wind  was  blowing^ 
and  the  trees  and  shrubbery  were  tossing  in  its 
power,  she  would  draw  a  slender  spray  with  its 
securely  encased  buds  against  her  .glowing  cheeks, 
as  she  said,  caressingly, 

"Don't  fear!  We  shall  be  taken  care  of.  Next 
May  will  be  like  last  May,  and  the  wind  will  come 
softly  from  the  south." 

Again,  she  would  stand  in  the  snow  upon  a  violet 
bank,  and  call, 

"  Heigh-ho,  down  there,  tucked  away  in  your  win 
ter  bed  !  Do  you  ever  dream  of  me  in  your  sleep  ?  " 

Thus  nature,  even  in  mid-winter,  suggested  to  her 
child  sleep  rather  than  death  ;  and  hope,  instead  of 
fear  and  despair;  and  when  her  heart  grew  heavy 
and  full  of  vague  forebodings  of  evil,  as  she  saw  her 
mother's  weakness,  and  her  father  so  deeply  en 
shrouded  in  gloom,  she  would  take  her  trusty  gun 
and  one  of  the  great  dogs,  and  spend  hours  among 
the  defiles  of  the  mountains,  finding  peace  and  good 
cheer,  where  to  another  would  have  been  only  black 
ness  and  desolation,  or  the  awful  solitude  and  gran 
deur  of  a  mountain  landscape  in  winter.  While 
Vera's  character  was  simplicity  itself,  this  noble 
companionship  with  things  that  were  grand  and 
large,  though  at  times  stern,  took  away  utterly  the 


122  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

elements  of  silliness  and  triviality  which  make  many 
young  girls  at  her  age  a  weariness  to  all  save  those 
as  empty  as  themselves.  And  the  sternness  of  many 
scenes  was  more  apparent  than  real ;  for  in  frowning 
ledges  of  rocks,  Vera  found  cosy  nooks  in  which  she 
was  protected  from  the  winds  as  she  rested,  and  the 
sun  would  often  light  up  the  face  of  the  precipice, 
as  a  smile  might  illumine  the  rugged  features  of  one 
who  seemed  harsh  and  cold  in  nature,  but  who,  on 
closer  acquaintance,  would  be  found  to  possess  traits 
that  are  kindly  and  gentle. 

The  winter  passed,  and  Vera  was  being  prepared 
for  the  part  she  must  take  in  life — for  temptations 
and  ordeals  which  would  test  the  strength  and  integ 
rity  of  the  strongest.  Her  teachers  were  not  such 
as  the  fashionable  would  choose  or  desire — sickness 
and  sorrow  at  home,  and  the  solitude  of  wintry 
mountains  without ;  and  yet  these  stern-visaged  in 
structors  made  their  pupil  more  sweet,  unselfish,  and 
womanly  every  day.  They  endowed  her  with  pa 
tience,  and,  at  the  same  time,  inspired  her  with 
hope.  Moreover,  she  had  the  two  grand  books  of 
the  world,  the  Bible  and  Shakspeare  ;  and  often  as 
she  watched  in  the  corner  of  the  wide  fireplace,  she 
half  read  and  half  brooded  over  their  glowing  pages, 
until  her  own  mind  was  full  of  thronging  thoughts 
and  fancies,  which,  in  their  beauty  and  character, 
were  at  least  akin  to  those  she  read. 

Still,  she  often  had  a  sense  of  loneliness,  and  the 
natural  craving  for  a  wider  companionship  and  sym 
pathy.  From  the  day  on  which  she  had  at  first  met 
Saville,  there  had  been  in  her  mind  a  vague,  faint 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE. 


123 


unrest,  and  a  desire  to  know  more  of  the  world  to 
which  he  belonged.  His  attempted  visit  had  greatly 
increased  this  desire,  and  concentrated  her  thoughts 
upon  him  as  the  only  one  concerning  whom  she  had 
any  knowledge,  or  who  had  shown  any  interest  in 
her.  She  often  found  herself  vividly  recalling  the 
two  occasions  on  which  she  had  seen  him,  and  which 
had  ended  so  unsatisfactorily.  His  manner,  appear 
ance,  and  his  words  and  tones  even,  were  dwelt 
upon;  and  he  became  to  her  like  one  of  Shakspeare's 
knightly  and  heroic  characters — half  real,  half  ideal. 
She  would  end  by  sighing, 

"  He  has  probably  gone  away,  and  thinks  of  us 
only  as  rude,  ill-mannered  mountaineers." 

As  spring  advanced  her  mother  failed  rapidly, 
and  Vera's  heart  and  hands  became  too  full  for 
thoughts  of  aught  else  save  the  deepest  and  tender- 
est  solicitude.  Old  Gula  shook  her  head  more  fre 
quently  and  ominously,  and  Vera  had  the  most 
painful  misgivings. 

One  day,  after  her  mother  had  recovered  from  a 
terrible  paroxysm  of  coughing,  she  followed  the  old 
negress  to  the  little  kitchen,  and  asked, 

"  Why  do  you  shake  your  head  so  discouragingly  ?  " 

"  Ise  a  tinkin'  dat  missis  is  a  hearin'  voices  as  well 
as  ole  Gula." 

"  What  voices  ?  " 

"  You'se  can't  understan',  chile;  but  you  will, 
some  day.  Dey  come  to  de  homesick  like." 

"  Where  do  they  come  from  ?" 

"  Why,  from  home,  honey.  You'se  mudder  is  like 
ole  Gula — far  from  home.  I  heerd  her  a  talkin'  in 


124 


NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 


her  sleep  of  a  green,  flowery  island,  way  off  'yond 
de  big  water.  She,  no  more'n  ole  Gula,  hab  allers 
lived  'mong  dese  cold,  stony  mountains.  An'  now 
de  voices  is  a  callin'  her  home." 

"  Do  you  think — do  you  think  mother — oh !  can 
mother  die?"  said  Vera,  in  a  terrified  whisper. 

"  Dunno  nufrm  'bout  dyin',  chile  ;  don't  tink  dere's 
any  such  ting.  But  some  day  you'll  find  dis  ole 
body  lyin'  cold  and  still,  but  'twon't  be  Gula,  'twon't 
be  me ;  I'll  be  far  away,  a  folio  win'  de  voices  ober 
de  big  wabes,  where  de  floatin'  miseries  go,  and  Gula 
will  be  home  where  de  sun  shines  warm  all  de  time, 
and  de  palm-trees  wave.  Oh ! — oh ! — ole  Gula's  heart 
is  sore ;  sore  wid  waitin'."  And  the  poor  creature 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  rocked  herself 
back  and  forth  in  all  the  tropical  demonstrativeness 
of  grief. 

But  Vera's  heart  was  sore  also,  and  finding  that 
she  was  losing  self-control,  she  hastened  out  into  the 
twilight,  and  sitting  down  upon  a  rock  back  of  the 
cabin,  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Gula  soon  forgot  her  own  grief  in  the  young  girl's 
distress,  and  removing  her  apron,  her  quaint,  wrin 
kled  face  became  full  of  commiseration.  At  last  she 
rose  and  hobbled  to  her,  and  laying  her  hand  on  the 
bowed  head,  said  in  husky  tones, 

"  Dare,  dare,  po'  young  missis  ;  don't  take  on  so. 
You  mustn't  be  so  sorry  dat  you'se  mudder's  goin' 
home.  When  she  gits  back  where  she  lived  afore, 
she  won't  be  sick  any  mo'." 

"  Oh  ! — oh  ! — oh  ! — there's  no  use  of  trying  to  be 
blind  any  more.  Mother  is  going  home  ;  but  not  to 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  125 

England — to  a  better  home  than  that.  But,  oh  ! — 
to  be  left  alone — what  shall  I  do  ?  how  can  I  bear 
it?" 

Calming  herself  by  a  great  effort,  she  at  last  r§- 
turned  to  her  mother,  who  had  surmised  her  daugh 
ter's  distress,  and  looked  at  her  so  wistfully  that 
Vera  again  lost  self-control,  and  kneeling  by  the 
bed,  gave  way  to  an  agony  of  grief. 

"  O  mother,"  she  sobbed,  "  how  can  you  leave 
me?" 

The  poor  woman  gave  her  child  a  startled  look, 
and  then,  more  fully  than  ever  before,  realized  the 
inevitable  separation  soon  to  come  ;  she  also  saw 
that  the  sad  truth  could  be  no  longer  concealed  from 
Vera.  Reaching  out  her  feeble  hands,  she  took  her 
child  into  her  arms,  and  they  wept  together  till  both 
were  exhausted.  Then  the  mother  whispered  the 
old  sweet  refrain  that  had  soothed  and  sustained 
her  through  so  many  troubled  years : 

"  '  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it 
be  afraid.  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  man 
sions  ' — I  think  I  shall  soon  be  in  mine,  Vera ;  and 
I  will  watch  and  wait  for  you." 

"  I  don't  want  another  mansion,  mother.     I'll  ask 

God  to  let  me  live  with  you.     One  mansion  will  be 

enough  for  us  both.     Oh,  why  can't  I  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  Your  father  needs  you  here,  Vera.     Oh,  my  poor 

husband !     For  my  sake  he  fell  into   this   gulf  of 

darkness.     Had  it  not  been  for  me " 

"  Hush ! "  said  a  stern  voice  ;  and  mother  and 
child  became  very  still,  the  one  oppressed  by  a  dark 
secret  known,  and  the  other  by  the  same  secret 


126  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

unknown,  but  which  the  girl,  even  in  her  inexpe 
rience  and  ignorance  of  evil,  began  to  realize  must 
be  very  sad  and  dreadful.  She  retired  for  a  time  to 
her  little  grotto-like  apartment  in  the  side  of  the 
hill,  and  then  came  back  calm  and  strengthened,  and 
entered  upon  her  patient  watch. 

The  husband,  who  had  been  a  silent,  and,  up  to 
the  time  of  his  harsh  interruption,  a  forgotten  wit 
ness  of  the  scene  just  described,  was  terribly  agi 
tated  by  contending  emotions.  The  words  he  had 
heard  had  aroused  him  from  his  deep  preoccupation, 
and  he  too  began  to  realize  for  the  first  time  that  his 
wife  might  be  near  her  end — that  this  was  more 
than  a  temporary  illness.  His  mind  was  not  so 
utterly  warped  but  that  he  foresaw  his  loss  with  the 
keenest  anguish.  He  had  loved  this  faded,  dying 
woman  with  all  the  strength  of  his  nature,  and  the 
thought  that  she  could  die  and  leave  him  had  never 
been  entertained.  But  now  it  came  like  a  revelation 
— a  lightning  flash  into  his  darkness,  making  every 
thing  the  darker  thereafter.  At  one  moment  his 
heart  would  yearn  toward  her  with  an  infinite  tender 
ness  and  remorse  ;  and  then  the  thought  would  come 
surging  up,  born  of  his  guilty  secret  and  demoraliz 
ing  fear,  that  if  she  died,  notme,  at  least  in  this  land, 
would  know  the  past.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
arrested  her  just  as  she  was  on  the  point  of  revealing 
the  secret  to  his  child.  She  might  do  so  still.  He 
remembered  that  the  dying  were  prone  to  unburden 
their  hearts  to  some  one.  He  determined  that  this 
must  be  prevented  at  all  hazards ;  and  in  spite  of 
his  morbid  suspiciousness,  he  still  had  such  trust  in 


LEFT   TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  12  f 

the  woman  who  had  been  so  true  to  him,  as  to  be 
satisfied  that  if  she  gave  him  her  solemn  promise  to 
be  dumb — never  to  tell  even  Vera — she  would  keep 
her  word. 

When  their  daughter  had  left  them  alone,  he  said 
abruptly,  and  yet  in  a  tone  that  trembled, 

"  Esther,  are  you  going  to  die?" 

"Yes,  Guy,"  said  the  wife,  wearily  and  faintly. 

After  a  moment,  and  still  more  tremblingly,  the 
man  said, 

"  Will  you  protect  me  to  the  last,  as  you  have  in 
all  these  years?" 

"  Yes,  Guy." 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  word,  which  you  have 
never  broken,  not  to  tell  even  Vera?" 

"  Yes,  Guy  ;  not  even  Vera." 

"  Will  you  swear  it  ?  "  he  said  hoarsely. 

"  God  is  my  witness,  I  will  be  silent.  The  deed 
was  not  done  in  malice — God  will  forgive  you,  Guy. 
Oh,  let  the  '  Lamb  of  God  which  taketh  away  the 
sins  of  the  world  '  lift  the  load  from  your  heart.  He 
has  from  mine.  But  how — how  can  I  leave  you  and 
my  darling  child  ?  And  yet  you  may  be  better  off 
without  me.  I  fear  I  have  become  a  burden." 

The  man  gave  way,  and  throwing  himself  down 
on  his  knees  beside  his  wife,  groaned  and  sobbed 
in  a  perfect  tempest  of  grief. 

"  I've  blighted  your  life,  Esther,"  he  cried.  "  Think 
what  you  might  have  been.  You  might  have  dwelt 
in  a  palace." 

"  Hush,  Guy,"  said  his  wife  solemnly.  "  If  all 
could  be  done  over  again  from  that  night  when  you 


128  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

came  and  told  me  what  had  happened,  I  would  act 
just  the  same.  I  loved  you  then.  I  love  you  now, 
and  God  loves  you." 

"  What  kind  of  a  God  is  he  that  permits  such 
horrors  ?  "  groaned  the  wretched  man,  showing  that 
even  the  love  of  the  unbelieving  can  in  such  emer 
gencies  do  little  else  than  wound  and  pain  those  who 
cling  to  them. 

"  He  is  the  God  who  only  can  deliver  from  such 
horrors,  and  remedy  the  fatal  mistakes  and  deeds 
of  this  life,"  said  his  wife  eagerly. 

"  How  has  He  remedied  them  ?  You  are  dying, 
and  we  will  be  left  alone  in  this  dreary  wilderness,  in 
which  we  must  cower  and  hide  till  we  also  die." 

"O  Guy,  Guy,  time  is  short,  and  eternity  very 
long.  So  trust,  so  live,  that  all  may  be  well  here 
after.  I  shall  wait  for  you  and  Vera  ;  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  heaven  will  not  begin  till  you  both  come 
to  me." 

The  man  was  silent,  and  became  more  composed. 

"  And  Guy,"  continued  his  wife  faintly,  for  she 
was  growing  very  weary,  "  I  fear  this  utter  seclu 
sion  is  unwise  and  unsafe.  It  may  be  fatal  to  Vera's 
happiness.  Go  out  and  take  an  open  part  in  this 
conflict  for  liberty.  You  will  be  your  old  self  after 
you  have  mingled  awhile  with  your  fellow  men. 

"  Not  yet,"  groaned  the  man.    "  I  dare  not  yet." 

The  wife  sighed  deeply,  but  said  no  more.  But 
hei  sore  heart  was  comforted  when  her  husband  rose 
and  for  the  first  time  for  years  bent  over  her,  giving 
a  kiss  and  gentle  caress,  as  he  said, 

"  Poor  little  wife,  you  have  been  faithfulness  itself." 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  129 

Then  he  went  back  to  his  dusky  corner;  but  the 
watchful  glitter  of  his  eyes  was  often  dimmed  with 
tears;  and  Vera  found  on  her  return  that  her  mother 
had  fallen  into  the  deep  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion. 

The  spring  night  deepened  and  darkened,  but  a 
shadow  darker  than  the  night  had  fallen  across  the 
cottage  ;  for  all  at  last  realized  that  death  was  near. 
Toward  morning  the  man  dozed  in  his  chair,  but 
Vera's  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  wide  and  fearful  gaze 
into  that  dread  future  when  she  should  be  alont  in 
the  world  that  to  her  was  so  strange  and  unexplored. 
More  than  once  the  thought  crossed  her  mind  in 
reference  to  Saville, 

"  If  he  knew,  would  he  come  ?  " 

And  yet  all  through  that  interminable  night,  she 
was  sustained  and  comforted  by  the  memory  of  One 
who  she  felt  sure  would  know  and  care. 

But  in  the  light  of  the  lovely  May  morning,  and 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  her  mother  seemed  a  little 
stronger  and  easier,  hope  revived. 

"  Father,  I  think  a  surgeon  might  help  mother," 
said  Vera  with  decision. 

The  man  gave  his  daughter  a  startled  look,  and 
her  words  had  evidently  awakened  a  sudden  conflict 
in  his  mind.  But  his  aroused  and  better  nature  pre 
vailed. 

"Perhaps  he  might,"  he  faltered;  "perhaps  he 
might." 

"  Then  where  can  one  be  found  ?  " 

He  strode  up  and  down  the  raom  a  moment,  then 
casting  a  compassionate  look  at  his  wife,  muttered, 

"  She  shall  have  the  chance,  cost  me  what  it 
6* 


130 


NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 


may."     Then  aloud  to  Vera — "  There  is  no  doubt  a 
surgeon  at  the  garrison  on  the  Island." 

"  I  will  go  for  him  at  once,"  said  Vera. 

"  Will  you — will  you  go  ?  "  said  her  father  with  an 
air  of  great  relief. 

"  Yes,  if  I  could  only  keep  mother  with  us,  I 
would  go  anywhere  and  face  anything." 

The  poor  woman  smiled  faintly,  but  shook  her 
head. 

But  old  Gula  barred  Vera's  exit,  till  she  had  fin 
ished  her  morning  bowl  of  bread  and  milk. 

"  You'se  not  a  sperrit,  honey,  do'  you'se  growin* 
to  look  mighty  like  one."  Old  Gula  had  consider 
able  sense  still  in  spite  of  her  weird  ways. 

"  I  will  take  our  little  skiff  out  of  its  hiding-place 
and  launch  it  for  you,"  said  her  father  ;  "  and  I  will 
be  on  the  watch  with  my  rifle  all  the  time  to  see 
that  no  harm  comes  to  you. 

In  less  than  an  hour  Vera's  light  shell  shot  out  of 
a  little  cove  above  the  point  of  land  opposite  Con 
stitution  Island,  and  was  soon  dancing  on  the  waves 
raised  by  the  southern  breeze  blowing  against  the  tide. 

Saville  was  engaged  as  usual,  directing  the  work 
upon  the  fortifications,  when  a  casual  glance  toward 
the  river  revealed  to  him  the  approaching  skiff.  Its 
occupant  so  puzzled  him  that  he  hastened  for  his 
glass,  and  soon  recognized  the  shy  maiden  who  had 
eluded  him  on  the  point  just  opposite,  and  whom  he 
had  half  forgotten.  But  now  she  seemed  coming 
boldly  to  the  shore  a  little  below  where  he  stood. 
As  Vera  looked  around  and  saw  who  it  was,  she 
seemed  startled,  and  rested  on  her  oars. 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  ^j 

"Are  you,  too,  afraid  of  me?"  asked  Saville 
kindly. 

Her  reply  was  a  few  vigorous  strokes  which 
brought  her  boat  to  his  feet,  and  then  rising  steadi 
ly,  she  stepped  lightly  to  the  shore,  before  he  could 
offer  his  hand. 

"  You  see  I  trust  you,  sir,"  she  said  simply,  as  she 
stood  tremblingly  before  him  with  downcast  eyes. 

"  And  am  I  such  an  ogre  that  you  fled  from  me 
once,  and  now  tremble  before  me  as  if  I  might  eat 
you  up  ?  Though  if  I  were  an  ogre  I  should  be  sore 
ly  tempted  to  fall  to ;  for  I  doubt  if  one  ever  sat 
down  to  a  daintier  meal." 

The  young  girl's  eyes  overflowed  with  tears,  as 
her  only  reply  to  this  light  badinage. 

"  You  are  in  trouble,"  said  Saville  quickly,  and  in 
a  very  different  tone. 

"  Yes  "  was  all  that  Vera  could  say. 

"  Tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

Putting  her  hand  upon  her  bosom  to  still  its  wild 
throbbing,  caused  by  embarrassment,  excitement, 
and  her  violent  exercise,  she  at  last  was  able  to  say, 

"  Is  there — I  would  see  a  surgeon." 

"  Sit  down,  my  child,  and  rest.  Do  not  be  afraid  ; 
you  may  trust  me  fully.  I  will  bring  the  surgeon  to 
you." 

"  I  am  much  beholden  to  you  for  your  courtesy," 
said  Vera,  naturally  falling  into  the  quaint  language 
of  the  book  with  which  she  was  so  familiar,  and 
whose  courtly  phraseology  seemed  to  her  appro 
priate  in  addressing  a  stranger. 

Saville   was   interested  in  the  contrast   between 


132  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

her  stately  words  and  simple,  grateful  manner; 
for  she  was  much  relieved  at  finding  that  she  need 
not  face  the  stare  of  the  garrison. 

Calling  one  of  his  men,  Saville  told  him  to  stand 
guard,  and  permit  no  one  to  approach  his  proteg£ , 
and  then  hastened  for  the  surgeon.  Neither  he  nor 
the  man  who  stood  mechanically  at  his  post,  though 
with  many  a  curious  glance  at  the  strange  visitor, 
realized  that  their  good  behavior  was  greatly  to 
their  advantage ;  for  if  they  had  been  capable  of 
anything  else,  an  unerring  rifle  would  have  spoken 
from  the  opposite  shore. 

Saville  soon  returned  with  a  stout,  burly,  but 
kindly-featured  man,  who,  on  learning  Vera's  errand, 
looked  with  dismay  at  the  slight  skiff. 

"  Look  ye  here,  my  child,"  he  said  brusquely, 
"  I'm  not  a  fairy  like  yourself,  and  can't  swim.  Did 
you  imagine  you  could  take  a  fully  developed  sur 
geon  across  the  river  in  that  shell?  I  wouldn't 
venture  in  it  for  twelve  months'  pay  in  advance." 

Vera  turned  her  face,  full  of  distress  and  disap 
pointment,  in  mute  appeal  to  Saville,  who  imme 
diately  said,  cordially, 

"  That's  right ;  you  can  trust  me  to  keep  my 
promise  of  help ;  so  don't  spoil  your  pretty  eyes 
with  tears.  You  can  lead  the  way  in  your  skiff,  and 
I  will  take  this  healing  monster  over  in  a  pontoon 
boat,  or  ship-of-the-line,  so  that  he  be  kept  from  the 
element  he  most  dreads.  But  wait  a  moment,  and 
I'll  get  you  something  that  will  do  your  mother 
more  good  than  all  his  medicines,"  and  he  hastened 
to  his  quarters,  and  brought  Vera  a  bottle  of  French 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  133 

brandy.  "  There,"  he  said,  "I  put  that  in  your 
charge ;  for  it  won't  do  to  trust  the  doctor  with  it. 
He  will  tell  your  mother  how  to  use  it,  but  do  not 
let  him  show  her." 

But  not  a  glimmer  of  a  smile  came  into  Vera's 
face  at  Saville's  light  talk.  Indeed,  it  grated  harshly 
on  her  ears,  as  she  remembered  her  mother's  critical 
state. 

"  Now,  cheer  up,"  added  Saville  kindly,  "  and  lead 
the  way.  If  our  good  doctor  is  helpless  on  the 
water,  he  is  skillful  on  the  land,  and  no  doubt  will 
soon  restore  your  mother  to  health." 

Vera,  whose  sore  heart  was  in  such  need  of  sym 
pathy,  lost  her  control  at  Saville's  kindly  tones  and 
manner,  and  bursting  into  tears,  said, 

"  I  fear  mother  is  sick  unto  death ; "  and  turning 
hastily  sprang  into  her  little  boat,  and  was  soon  out 
in  the  stream,  where  she  kept  the  light  craft  waiting 
in  position,  with  the  care  and  precision  of  a  water 
fowl. 

Saville's  pontoon  proved  to  be  a  handsomely 
modeled  boat  of  his  own,  which  he  kept  for  his 
private  pleasure  or  for  patroling  the  river  should 
occasion  require,  and  he  soon  struck  out  vigorously 
after  Vera's  guiding  skiff.  She  led  them  to  a  point 
from  which  the  ascent  to  the  cottage  could  be  made 
with  comparative  ease.  Saville  was  about  to  accom 
pany  them,  having  again  become  interested  in  the 
unique  character  of  the  maiden,  and  feeling  assured 
that  if  the  cabin  was  the  hiding-place  of  crime,  none 
of  its  occupants  could  be  vulgar  criminals;  while  the 
thought  of  evil  was  not  to  be  entertained  in  regard 


134  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

to  the  maiden.  But  Vera  arrested  his  steps,  by 
saying,  with  painful  embarrassment, 

"  Father  said  I  must  bring  no  one  save  the  sur 
geon." 

Saville's  quick  spirit  was  hurt,  and  he  flushed 
resentfully.  Vera  felt  herself  cruelly  trammeled, 
but  was  unable  to  see  how  she  could  explain  the 
apparently  rude  requital  of  his  kindness.  Her 
troubled  face,  however,  almost  instantly  disarmed 
him,  and  he  saw  that  her  words  were  not  at  all 
prompted  by  her  own  feelings;  and  when  she  sud 
denly  stepped  up  to  him,  and  said  in  a  low  tone, 

" '  Charity  suffereth  long  and  is  kind,'  "  he  took 
her  hand  and  answered  gently, 

"  Charity  also  '  thinketh  no  evil.'  You  are  a  good 
girl,  though  you  are  rather  odd.  Good-by,  and 
don't  worry  about  me.  May  your  mother  soon  get 
well." 

"  And  may  God  requite  thy  kindness,"  Vera  said 
so  earnestly,  that  for  the  moment  he  felt  as  if  she 
had  appealed  to  One  who  had  an  existence.  But  a 
moment  later,  after  she  was  gone,  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  soliloquized, 

"  That's  the  way  it  always  is — crime  and  supersti 
tion  go  together.  That  girl's  parents,  who  no  doubt 
are  hiding  from  the  constable,  are  very  religious, 
and  have  taught  this  poor  child  their  pious  jargon. 
Still  she  seems  to  have  the  natural  grace  to  use  it 
with  skill  and  taste.  She  is,  indeed,  very  odd,  and 
her  seeming  familiarity  with  the  two  greatest  works 
of  fiction  in  the  world  is  unaccountable  in  one  so 
young  and  isolated.  I  must  find  some  means  of 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  135 

propitiating  her  churlish  father ;  for  I  would  like  to 
pursue  this  strange  acquaintance  further." 

The  surgeon's  practiced  eye  at  once  saw  that 
Vera's  mother  was  in  the  last  stages  of  consump 
tion,  and  to  the  questioning  and  entreating  eyes  that 
were  turned  upon  him,  could  only  shake  his  head, 
and  say, 

"  Neither  I  nor  any  one  else  can  do  much  for  you, 
madam  ;  you  must  prepare  for  a  better  world." 

Vera  gave  a  faint  cry,  as  if  she  had  received  a 
mortal  wound,  and  was  about  to  give  way  to  her 
grief,  when  her  mother  restrained  her  by  saying, 

"  Be  calm,  darling,  for  my  sake.  It  is  just  as  I 
supposed.  Let  us  patiently  submit  to  God's  will." 

"  That's  a  good  child,"  added  the  kindly  surgeon. 
"  Try  to  control  yourself  and  listen  to  me,  and  you 
can  make  your  mother's  last  days  much  easier ;  "  and 
he  gave  full  directions,  and  left  alleviating  remedies. 
"  But  Saville  was  right,"  he  concluded,  "  the  brandy 
will  do  more  to  sustain  your  mother  at  times  than 
anything  else.  You  needn't  come  back  with  me.  I 
can  find  my  way  to  the  boat." 

The  doctor's  visit  had  not  been  so  brief  but  that 
he  had  been  much  impressed  by  the  mother's  refine 
ment,  and  the  appearance  of  the  cottage. 

14  You  may  depend  upon  it,"  he  said  to  Saville  on 
his  return,  "  those  people  there  are  very  far  from 
being  ordinary  mountaineers." 

Thus  the  young  man's  interest  was  still  further 
stimulated,  and  he  resolved,  though  with  no  mo 
tive  of  vulgar  curiosity,  if  possible,  to  penetrate 
the  mystery. 


1 36 


NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 


The  lovely  spring  day  without,  was  a  dark  and 
dreary  one  within  the  cabin,  for  the  last  hope  of 
recovery  had  vanished.  The  husband  sank  into  the 
deepest  gloom,  from  which  nothing  could  arouse  him ; 
but  he  was  unwontedly  tender  and  thoughtful  of  his 
wife.  From  that  day  he  so  managed  and  provided 
for  the  family  that  Vera  could  give  all  her  time  to 
the  sick-room.  But  this  seclusion  from  her  out-door 
life,  combined  with  her  broken  rest  and  burden  of 
sorrow,  told  heavily  on  the  young  girl,  and  she  was 
beginning  to  look  almost  like  the  ministering  spirit 
Gula  had  spoken  of.  The  mother  would  often  urge 
her  to  go  out  and  take  the  air,  but  Vera  would 
always  reply,  in  the  pathetic  words  of  one  whom  in 
simplicity  and  fidelity  she  resembled,  "  Entreat  me 
not  to  leave  thee." 

And  yet  it  was  an  unspeakable  comfort  to  the 
dying  woman  that  her  husband  so  provided  for  the 
household  as  to  leave  her  beloved  child  a  continuous 
watcher  at  her  bedside  ;  for  had  Vera  been  com 
pelled,  as  had  often  been  the  case  in  the  past,  to 
spend  much  of  her  time  roaming  the  hills  and  follow 
ing  the  brooks  in  order  to  keep  up  a  supply  of  food, 
the  cup  of  her  bitterness  would  have  overflowed. 
As  well  as  she  could,  in  view  of  her  own  ignorance 
of  the  world  and  the  peculiarities  of  their  situation, 
she  tried  to  advise  and  guard  her  child  in  reference 
to  the  future. 

"  Let  your  name, ".she  said  one  day,  "  which  your 
father  gave  you  because  he  said  I  had  been  true  to 
him,  express  your  character.  Be  true  to  your  God 
and  your  faith ;  be  true  to  my  poor  teachings  and 


LEFT    TO   NATURE'S    CARE. 


'37 


your  own  pure  womanly  nature.  Let  the  Bible  guide 
you  in  all  things,  and  then  you  will  always  have 
peace  in  your  heart,  and  find  sympathy  in  nature 
without.  But  rest  assured,  Vera,  however  wise  and 
greatly  to  your  advantage  anything  may  seem,  if 
your  Bible  is  against  it,  do  not  hesitate  to  turn  away, 
for  it  would  not  end  well.  Keep  thy  heart  with  all 
diligence.  When  it  troubles  you  —  when  your  old 
playmates,  the  innocent  flowers,  look  at  you  reproach 
fully,  something  will  be  wrong.  Keep  true,  my  dar 
ling,  and  our  separation  won't  be  long.  But,  oh  ! — 
how  can  I  leave  you  in  the  world,  so  unshielded  and 
alone  ?  O  Thou  who  callest  thyself  a  '  covenant- 
keeping  God/  fail  not  my  child." 

Again,  at  another  time  she  said,  "  Vera,  one  of  the 
most  painful  things  in  your  future  lot  will  be  that 
you  cannot  trust  the  judgment  of  your  father.  In 
deed,  you  will  have  to  be  his  guardian  and  protector 
more  truly  than  he  will  be  yours.  Be  very  tender 
and  patient  with  him,  for  my  sake  as  well  as  from 
your  own  love,  and  yet  be  firm  when  your  own  and 
his  interests  require  it.  I  do  not  think  this  utter 
seclusion  wise  or  safe.  It  will  draw  rather  than 
avert  suspicion  and  trouble." 

"Why  does  father  shrink  so  from  strangers? 
Though  I  have  often  asked,  you  have  never  told  me 
much  about  your  old  life  in  England." 

"  Well,  my  darling,  you  must  be  content  to  know 
little,  for  your  life  will  be  burdened  enough,  I  fear, 
with  your  own  troubles,  and  I  would  not  add  to 
them  those  of  the  past.  Let  it  satisfy  you  to  know 
that  your  father  met  with  a  sudden  and  great  mis- 


138  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

fortune,  and  was  compelled  to  leave  his  native  land. 
I  loved  him,  and  followed  him,  as  I  would  again,  if 
I  were  free  to  choose.  But,  Vera,  he  took  me  to  a 
minister  of  God  before  we  left  England,  and  with 
this  plain  ring,  and  with  sacred  words,  we  were 
joined  in  holy  wedlock.  I  had  thought  to  be  buried 
with  this  ring,  but  it  can  serve  better  uses.  I  now 
put  it  on  your  hand,  as  a  kind  of  charm  against  eyil. 
Give  no  man  any  rights,  Vera ;  permit  not  even  a 
caressing  touch  from  one  that  you  may  even  love, 
unless  he  will  wed  you  with  this  your  dead  mother's 
ring,  and  in  the  presence  of  God's  minister,  in  ac 
cordance  with  the  teachings  of  God's  book."  And 
she  placed  the  plain  gold  band  upon  Vera's  finger. 

Did  not  God  inspire  the  act  ? 

Of  course  Vera  had  spoken  often  of  Saville's  kind 
ness,  and  the  mother  seemed  to  have  a  presentiment 
that  he  might  have  much  influence  upon  her  daugh 
ter's  destiny.  "  I  wish  I  could  have  seen  him,  for  it 
is  said  that  the  dying  often  have  great  insight  into 
character,"  she  sighed,  one  day,  as  Vera  was  speak 
ing  gratefully  of  his  words  and  manner ;  and  the 
girl  deeply  regretted  that  she  had  not  permitted  him 
to  come. 

"  If  he  ever  does  seek  your  acquaintance,  find  out 
if  he  is  true,  above  all  other  things.  If  truthfulness 
is  wanting,  you  can  depend  on  nothing  else.  I  pray 
God  that  he,  or  some  other  strong,  honest  friend 
may  be  raised  up  for  you  ;  for  when  I  remember  the 
words, '  This  region  will  soon  be  full  of  armed  men/ 
my  heart  fails  me.  I  fear  your  father's  manner  will 
only  draw  suspicion  and  hostility." 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  139 

Thus  the  dying  mother  tried  to  counsel  Vera 
against  the  time,  when,  though  still  a  child,  she 
should  be  entirely  dependent  for  guidance  on  her 
own  judgment  and  conscience. 

After  all  hope  of  life  had  been  removed  by  the 
surgeon's  visit,  she  failed  quite  rapidly,  until  at  last 
her  life  seemed  but  a  breath,  that  might  cease  at  any 
moment.  She  felt  that  her  end  was  very  near,  and 
one  day,  in  the  latter  part  of  May,  would  not  per 
mit  her  husband  to  leave  the  house.  Still,  she  slept 
most  of  the  time,  only  rousing,  now  and  then,  to 
give  the  watchers  a  faint  smile.  The  man  sat  most 
of  the  time  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  over 
whelmed  with  remorse  and  gloom.  But  Vera's  eyes 
were  continually  fixed  on  her  mother's  face,  as  if  she 
feared  her  treasure  might  vanish  should  she  turn 
away  an  instant. 

As  the  sun  sank  below  the  mountains,  the  sleeper 
aroused,  and  her  face  was  so  peaceful  and  painless 
that  Vera  said : 

"  You  are  better,  mother." 

"  Yes,  darling,  I  shall  soon  be  well.  Where's  old 
Gula?" 

Vera  called  her,  and  the  aged  negress,  with  her 
wrinkled  face  working  strangely,  stood  at  her  bed 
side. 

"  Good-by,  Gula.  Oh !  that  among  your  voices 
you  could  hear  that  of  our  Saviour,  saying,  '  Come 
unto  me,  and  I  will  give  you  rest/  I  shall  wait  and 
watch  for  you,  too,  my  poor  old  friend." 

"  You'se  will  git  home  'fore  ole  Gula,  but  I'se  a 
goin'  soon — wery  soon."  And  the  poor  old  creature 


140  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  going  back  to 
the  door-step,  rocked  back  and  forth,  crooning  a  low, 
continuous  wail  of  sorrow. 

"  Guy,"  said  the  wife. 

Her  husband  came  and  took  her  hand,  already 
cold  with  approaching  death.  She  fixed  her  large 
and  unnaturally  bright  eyes  upon  him  while  he 
trembled  like  an  aspen  in  his  effort  at  self-control. 

"  Guy,"  at  last  she  faltered,  "  I  left  all  things  to 
follow  you  ;  won't  you  follow  me  to  the  home  where 
we  shall  be  safe  and  at  rest?" 

"  I  will  try,"  he  groaned. 

"  Be  gentle  with  Vera — be  thoughtful  of  her.  If 
he  who  so  kindly  aided  her  in  bringing  the  surgeon 
comes  again,  do  not  drive  him  away." 

The  man  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  but 
bowed  his  head  in  assent. 

"  Oh  !  my  husband,"  said  his  wife  in  sudden  and 
passionate  earnestness,  "  I  love  you  ;  I  would  follow 
you  again  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  '  Let  not  your 
heart  be  so  troubled.'  ' 

With  a  cry  like  that  of  one  desperately  wounded, 
he  rushed  from  the  room,  exclaiming,  "  My  punish 
ment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear." 

Her  eyes  followed  him  with  infinite  regret  and 
tenderness,  and  the  expression  of  her  face  must 
have  been  akin  to  that  of  Christ,  as  he  wept  over 
the  doomed  and  unbelieving  city.  For  a  few  mo 
ments  she  was  silent,  and  her  lips  moved  in  prayer. 
Then  she  turned,  and  took  her  child  in  one  last  close 
embrace. 

"  Vera,  darling,"  she  whispered,  "  it's  only  for  a 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  141 

little  while,  and  then  we'll  not  part  any  more.  As 
surance  has  been  given  me  that  He  who  took  into 
his  arms  the  children  that  mothers  brought  Him, 
and  blessed  them,  will  take  my  place  to  you.  My 
heart  .is  not  troubled,  neither  is  it  afraid.  I  leave 
you  in  His  charge,  and  no  one  shall  be  able  to  pluck 
you  out  of  His  hands." 

"  Mother,"  said  Vera  suddenly,  "  do  you  think 
God  would  permit  any  one  to  have  two  guardian 
angels?  Might  he  not  let  me  have  two,  at  least 
till  I  find  some  one  who  will  take  care  of  me?  " 

"  Well  dear,  if  He  will,  what  then  ?  " 

"It  may  be  selfish,  mother  darling,  to  ask  you  to 
leave  heaven  ;  but  God  says  in  His  Book  that  after 
we  go  to  Him  we  shall  be  '  like  unto  the  angels.'  If 
He  will  let  you,  would  you  mind  coming  down 
sometimes  to  watch  over  me  ?  I  shall  be  so  very, 
very  lonely  without  you,  and  if  I  thought  you  were 
near  me  at  times,  it  would  be  such  a  comfort." 

"  I  believe  he  will  let  me  come,  darling,  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  not  all  the  joy  of  heaven  could 
keep  me  from  being  continually  at  your  side.  But 
whether  I  can  come  or  not,  He  has  said,  1 1  will  never 
leave  thee  nor  forsake  thee  ;  '  and  His  words  seem 
very  sure  to-day." 

The  mother's  voice,  in  her  mortal  weakness,  had 
sunk  to  the  lowest  whisper. 

After  a  few  moments,  she  said,  "  Can  you  sing  me 
the  twenty-third  Psalm,  darling?" 

Vera  had  long  before  passed  beyond  sobbing  and 
tears,  and  now  possessed  the  strange,  unnatural 
calmness  of  those  who  are  lifted  by  some  great 


I42  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

emergency  of  sorrow  far  above  their  ordinary  moods 
and  powers. 

Rising  from  this  last  close  embrace,  she  chanted 
those  sublime  yet  tender  words,  which  have  been 
like  an  all-powerful  and  sustaining  hand  to  myriads 
of  weary  pilgrims  in  the  last  dark  stage  of  the  jour 
ney  home.  The  music  was  simple  and  improvised, 
but  so  sweet  and  full  of  pathos,  that  even  her  father, 
who  had  returned,  was  calmed  and  melted  by  it,  and 
sat  down  by  Vera's  side  to  watch  and  wait  for  the 
end.  The  mother's  face  was  very  peaceful,  and  she 
seemed  to  be  sleeping.  Suddenly  her  eyes  opened 
wide  and  her  face  appeared  illumined  by  a  coming 
light.  Her  lips  moved,  and  Vera,  bending  over, 
heard  her  whisper, 

"  Oh,  my  Saviour,  hast  Thou  deigned  to  come 
Thyself  for  me  ?  '  Behold  the  handmaid  of  the 
Lord.'  " 

Then,  as  if  remembering  those  she  was  leaving, 
she  looked  back  to  them  with  a  smile  that  Vera 
never  forgot,  for  it  seemed  spiritual  rather  than 
human,  and  said  quite  plainly, 

"  Good-by  for  a  little  while.  All  is  well.  Let 
not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be  afraid." 

Her  breast  rose  and  fell  with  two  or  three  long 
sighs,  and  then  the .  frail,  earthly  tabernacle  was 
tenantless,  but  upon  the  pallid  face  the  departed 
spirit  had  left  the  impress  of  peace.  To  Vera,  in 
her  excited  and  exalted  state,  the  dusky  cabin  seemed 
filled  with  the  rustle  of  angels'  wings. 

"  Is  she  dead?"  asked  the  husband  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 


LEFT    TO   NATURE'S    CARE.  143 

"  No,"  said  Vera  gently,  "  she  is  in  heaven." 

Her  father  went  back  to  his  dark  corner,  and  sat 
there  through  the  long  night,  motionless,  sleepless, 
and  scarcely  seeming  to  breathe.  Vera,  still  holding 
her  mother's  cold  hand,  watched  mechanically,  too 
stunned  and  bewildered  to  think  or  to  realize  her 
loss,  and  yet  sleepless  from  excitement  and  the 
long  habit  of  wakefulness.  Old  Gula  brought  her  a 
cup  of  milk,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Now,  missy,  mind  your  mudder  jus*  de  same. 
Wouldn't  she  say  take  it?"  and  Vera  drank  it 
eagerly. 

The  night  deepened,  and  was  full  of  the  strange, 
weird  sounds  to  which  she  had  always  loved  to 
listen,  but  she  did  not  hear  them.  The  silent  stars 
passed  over  her  head  as  unnoted  as  the  hours.  With 
the  same  steadfast  gaze  she  looked  toward  the  dead 
face,  which,  though  hidden  by  the  darkness,  was 
ever  distinctly  before  her.  At  last,  as  the  morning 
dawned,  the  face  began  to  take  shape  to  her  outward 
vision.  At  first  it  was  shadowy  and  spirit-like,  then 
that  of  a  quiet  and  peaceful  sleeper ;  but  at  last  a 
broad  ray  of  light,  streaming  through  the  casement, 
fell  full  upon  it,  giving  it  a  strange  gladness,  and  the 
effect  of  recovered  youth,  health,  and  beauty.  God 
seemingly  transfigured  the  wasted  features,  suggest 
ing  to  the  desolate  young  watcher  what  had  really 
taken  place  in  the  sunny  land  "  wherein  the  inhabi 
tant  shall  no  more  say,  I  am  sick."  To  Vera's  strong 
and  simple  faith  it  was  like  a  vision  of  her  mother's 
glory  in  heaven,  and  the  ray  became,  and  was  ever 
remembered,  as  an  angel  of  light  and  comfort. 


144  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

Then  Gula  entered  and  said,  "  Keep  a-doin'  jus'  as 
you'se  mudder  would  like,  honey.  Go  to  de  spring 
and  bathe  your  face,  and  den  come  and  see  what 
Fse  got  for  you." 

Vera  went  at  once,  and  the  cool  water,  coming 
from  the  heart  of  the  mountain,  calmed  her  feverish 
excitement.  She  sat  down  on  a  mossy  rock,  and 
looked  around  like  one  who  had  entered  a  new  world 
and  a  new  life,  and  could  not  yet  comprehend  it. 
But  gradually  the  familiar  sights  and  sounds  of 
nature  gained  her  attention,  and  began  to  speak  to 
her  in  the  language  she  loved  and  understood  so  well. 

"  Look  at  us,"  said  the  violets,  blooming  at  her 
feet.  "  All  last  winter  we  slept  in  seeming  death, 
as  your  mother  is  sleeping  now ;  but  at  the  right 
time  God  awakened  us.  and  here  we  are  to  comfort 
you." 

"Look  at  me,"  said  the  bubbling  spring.  "  The 
black  ice  shut  me  in,  as  the  black  earth  will  cover 
your  mother,  but  it  did  not  hurt  me  ;  and,  sparkling 
again  this  morning  as  brightly  as  ever,  I  am  here  to 
comfort  you." 

"  Listen  to  us,"  said  the  birds  over  her  head. 
"  We  did  not  sing  here  last  winter,  but  we  were 
singing  where  the  cold  winds  never  blow.  So  your 
mother  has  only  flown  away  to  a  sunnier  clime,  and 
we  are  here  to  comfort  you." 

"  Look  at  me,"  cried  the  sun,  rising  in  unclouded 
splendor  over  the  eastern  hills.  "  Do  I  not  come 
back  to  you  after  the  darkness  of  the  night  ?  So 
will  He,  whose  light  I  reflect,  shine  away  your  sor 
row,  and  He  has  sent  me  to  comfort  you." 


LEFT    TO    NATURE'S    CARE.  145 

"  Watch  me  a  little  while,"  said  a  drop  of  dew, 
hanging  on  a  delicate  wind-flower  that  she  had 
unconsciously  plucked;  "and,  ere  you  are  aware,  the 
sun  will  draw  me  up  toward  himself  into  the  sky. 
So  God  has  taken  your  mother,  and  soon  he  will 
take  you,  and  he  himself  will  wipe  away  all  tears  and 
comfort  you." 

Then,  to  the  fancy  of  the  solitary  girl,  who  had 
little  companionship  save  that  of  nature's  children, 
these  voices  all  seemed  to  join  in  a  swelling  chorus : 

"  Oh !  trust  with  us  the  great  Creator, 

Whose  law  of  love  our  love  enthralls ; 
Unnoted  by  our  Heavenly  Father 
Not  e'en  a  fluttering  sparrow  falls." 

"Let  not  your  heart  be  faint  and  troubled, 

And  neither  let  it  be  afraid  ; 
For  God  will  guard,  with  care  redoubled, 
The  child  in  his  own  image  made." 

Thus  the  peace  and  hopefulness  of  nature  were 
breathed  into  her  heart,  and  she  went  back  to  the 
cottage,  trusting  in  Him  to  whom  all  things  seemed 
to  point. 

But,  when  she  entered  the  cabin,  and  the  sleeper 
did  not  awake  with  the  wonted  smile  of  recognition 
and  words  of  welcome  ;  when  she  kissed  the  cold 
lips,  and  found  that  they  were  indeed  cold  and  unre 
sponsive,  a  mysterious  dread  chilled  her  own  heart, 
and  the  realization  of  her  loss,  loneliness,  and  help 
lessness  was  so  vivid  as  to  be  well-nigh  overwhelm 
ing. 

But  teajs,  nature's  relief,  came  at  last,  and  she 
wept  and  sobbed  until  she  grew  quiet  from  exhaus- 


I46  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

tion.  Then  Gula  again  resumed  her  homely  min 
istry,  and  after  inducing  the  stricken  orphan  to  take 
a  little  food,  was  at  last  pleased  to  see  her  escape 
from  sorrow  for  a  time  in  the  deep  oblivion  of  sleep. 

The  husband,  who  for  many  hours  had  seemed 
stunned  and  paralyzed  by  his  loss,  at  last  aroused 
himself,  and  told  Gula  that  he  would  go  with  the 
skiff  up  the  river  for  a  coffin,  and  that  it  would  be 
late  before  he  returned.  Having  taken  some  pro 
visions,  and  leaving  the  two  dogs  as  protection,  he 
departed. 

Vera  slept  quietly  until  the  time  her  mother  had 
died  the  previous  evening,  when  something,  perhaps, 
in  the  recurring  hour  caused  her  to  start  up  as  if 
called.  But  time  had  been  given  for  her  healthful 
nature  to  recuperate,  and  though  the  sense  of  deso 
lation,  all  the  more  oppressive  from  her  father's 
absence,  was  indeed  terrible  at  times,  she  was  able 
to  resume  her  post  of  watcher  for  the  night,  saying 
to  Gula, 

"  I  will  feel  better  sitting  here  by  mother,  as  if  she 
were  still  alive,  than  I  would  anywhere  else." 

"  I'se  a  gwine  to  stay  here  wid  de  young  missy," 
said  Gula  resolutely  ;  and  she  crouched  down  in  the 
wide  fireplace,  the  faint  flicker  of  the  flames  often 
giving  a  strange  effect  to  her  face  and  form  as  she 
crooned  weird  snatches  of  the  barbarous  music 
learned  long  ago  in  her  tropical  home. 

It  was  a  remarkable  group :  the  mother,  once 
beautiful  and  abounding  in  hope,  now  faded  and 
dead  in  the  mountain  cabin ;  the  exile,,  the  old 
African  princess,  who  had  been  stolen  from  her 


LEFT    TO   NATURE'S   CARE. 

home,  and  wronged,  until  her  mind  had  become 
even  a  greater  wreck  than  her  scarred  and  shriveled 
form  ;  and  the  young  maiden,  who  was  like  some 
of  her  favorite  mountain  flowers,  that  grew  into 
fragrant  loveliness  among  rocks  and  cliffs,  where  it 
would  seem  they  could  scarcely  live  at  all. 

The  night  deepened,  and  it  may  be  well  believed 
that  other  and  viewless  watchers  gathered  round  the 
sorrow-stricken  girl. 


1.48  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS. 

AS  the  lovely  spring  day,  which  had  brought  to 
Vera  a  brief  respite  from  her  sorrow,  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  a  man  might  have  been  seen 
issuing  from  a  log  cabin  located  among  the  mountains 
west  of  the  Hudson,  and  at  a  considerable  distance 
from  the  river.  His  manner  was  brisk  and  decided, 
as  if  he  were  looking  forward  to  the  labors  from 
which,  in  view  of  the  hour,  he  should  naturally  be 
returning.  His  house  was  built  very  strongly,  and 
appeared  as  if  it  might  be  used  as  a  refuge  and  de 
fense,  as  well  as  a  dwelling.  The  place  had  a  certain 
rude  air  of  thrift,  and  yet  there  was  nothing  to  indi 
cate  from  whence  the.  owner's  revenue  came.  There 
was  no  cleared  and  arable  land  near,  and  certainly 
the  beautiful  horse,  that  cropped  the  grass  in  the 
small  inclosure  around  the  cabin,  had  never  served 
as  one  of  a  woodman's  team. 

The  man's  action  was  still  more  irreconcilable  with 
any  peaceful  pursuit ;  for  he  rapidly  ascended  the 
lofty  hill  back  of  his  house,  which  was  one  of  a 
succession  of  wooded  highlands,  stretching  away 
toward  the  river,  and  having  gained  the  summit, 
scanned  the  valley  to  the  westward,  giving  especial 


THE    ROBIN  HOOD    OF    THE    HIGHLANDS.      149 

attention  to  some  object  far  distant  upon  the  road 
leading  southward. 

As  he  stood  there,  partially  concealing  himself 
among  the  low  trees,  glass  in  hand,  we  may  sketch 
him  briefly.  He  was  a  little  past  middle  age,  tall, 
and  most  powerfully  built ;  his  quick  movements, 
however,  adding  an  impression  of  lightness  and 
something  like  grace  to  that  of  strength.  The  aspect 
of  his  face  was  bold,  even  to  recklessness.  He  had 
the  bearing  of  one  gifted  with  unlimited  natural 
daring,  rather  than  the  calm,  patient  courage  which 
would  lead  a  man  to  die  at  his  post.  His  restless 
black  eyes  had  the  habit  of  glancing  rapidly  from 
side  to  side,  as  if  he  were  on  a  perpetual  reconnois- 
sance.  The  light  that  came  from  them  was  not  the 
diabolical  gleam  of  those  who  know  themselves  to 
be  villains,  but  rather  the  keen,  alert  expression 
often  seen  in  beasts  of  prey.  There  was  scarcely 
anything  to  indicate  the  presence  of  a  moral  nature. 
The  eagle,  perched  upon  his  eyrie,  scanning  the  val 
ley  to  see  where  he  could  swoop  down  to  the  best 
advantage,  would  be  the  most  correct  type  of  this 
man,  Claudius  Smith  by  name,  and  the  terror  of  the 
whole  region,  during  the  early  years  of  the  Revolu 
tion. 

Apparently  satisfied  by  his  scrutiny,  he  went  rap 
idly  back  among  the  hills,  instead  of  returning  to 
his  own  house.  Within  less  than  half  an  hour  he 
reached  a  secluded  glen.  Before  descending  this,  he 
again  took  an  observation — not  of  the  exquisite 
landscape,  with  valleys  lying  in  shadow,  and  rugged 
highlands  aglow  with  the  setting  sun,  and  all  decked 


150  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

in  the  tender  and  tinted  foliage  of  May.  The  gleam 
of  a  rifle  barrel  would  catch  Smith's  eye  instantly, 
but  the  perception  of  beauty  was  not  in  his  line. 

Again  everything  appeared  satisfactory,  and  he 
descended  the  hill-side  nearly  to  its  base,  and  then, 
instead  of  giving  the  conventional  signal  of  thrice 
whistling,  he  imitated  with  marvelous  exactness  the 
neigh  of  a  horse.  A  flat  stone,  quite  hidden  by 
some  copse-wood  near  where  he  stood,  was  thrown 
back,  and  eight  men  emerged,  as  it  were,  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  and  the  leader  and  his  band 
were  together. 

"  It's  all  right,  boys,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "  I 
watched  the  squad  of  militia  till  they  disappeared 
to  the  southeast.  The  coast  is  clear.  Meet  me, 
mounted  and  armed,  at  my  house  within  an  hour;" 
and  with  the  lightness  and  celerity  of  movement 
that  characterized  him,  he  vanished  among  the  trees. 

His  men  well  understood  their  part,  and  were 
seemingly  glad  to  be  released  from  confinement. 
The  presence  of  soldiery  in  the  neighborhood  made 
the  resort  to  this  hiding-place  (of  which  they  had 
several  in  the  mountains)  a  precaution  which  their 
leader  insisted  on,  for  this  Tory  gang  had  already 
become  so  notorious  that  parties  had  attempted 
their  capture.  After  carefully  covering  the  mouth 
of  the  cave,  they  went  to  their  secluded  mountain 
homes,  or  where  their  horses  were  in  hiding,  and, 
within  the  time  named,  were  reassembled  at  Smith's 
house,  armed  and  mounted  in  true  moss-trooper 
style. 

Never  was  a  group  of  Italian  bandits  among  the 


THE    ROBIN  HOOD    OF    THE   HIGHLANDS.      151 

Apennines  more  picturesque  and  suggestive  of 
ruthless  deeds  than  these  highland  Tories  and  Cow 
boys  ;  and  not  a  classic  brigand  of  them  all  was 
more  unscrupulous. 

They  were  all  dressed  somewhat  as  their  leader, 
in  red  flannel  shirts  and  short  coats,  which  could  be 
buttoned  tightly  or  hang  loose  like  a  cavalryman's 
jacket.  Buckskin  breeches,  and  topboots  armed 
with  spurs,  completed  their  simple  attire ;  but  their 
leathern  belts  bristled  with  weapons,  while  across 
each  one's  back  was  slung  a  short  musket.  Though 
little  more  than  midnight  plunderers,  they  were  ever 
prepared  for  desperate  fighting,  should  the  emergen 
cy 'require  it.  As  they  hastily  devoured  the  rude 
meal  which  the  wife  of  their  leader  had  prepared, 
they  certainly  were  a  savage-looking  crew,  with  their 
unshaven  faces,  and  eyes  gleaming  out  from  under 
slouched  hats,  which  they  had  not  the  grace  to 
remove. 

But  of  their  horses,  the  beautiful  and  innocent 
accomplices  of  their  crimes,  too  much  could  scarcely 
be  said  in  the  way  of  praise.  And  little  wonder, 
for  the  freebooters  had  taken  the  pick  of  the  whole 
country  side.  The  splendid  and  spirited  beasts  made 
the  quiet  evening  resonant  with  their  neighing,  as 
they  impatiently  pawed  the  earth  while  waiting  for 
their  ignoble  masters. 

At  last,  in  the  dusky  twilight,  the  men  formed  a 
circle  about  the  door,  and  Claudius  Smith  held  aloft 
a  flask  of  whisky,  as  he  cried, 

"  Here's  to  a  'big  night's  work;"  and  he  took  a 
heavy  draught. 


152  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

11  Tip  it  well,  boys,"  he  added  ;  "  for  you've  plenty 
of  rough,  hard  riding  before  you,  and  mayhap  some 
fighting." 

A  shout  greeted  this  announcement,  and  the  flask 
was  drained,  and  filled  again  for  the  emergencies  of 
the  night. 

Slinging  their  muskets  over  their  shoulders,  they 
sprang  lightly  into  their  saddles,  and  were  soon 
following  Smith  along  a  rough  road  which  skirted  a 
mountain-side.  Where  the  road  was  rough  and 
precipitous,  they  walked  their  horses;  but  at  times 
they  would  break  into  a  sudden  gallop  over  level 
reaches,  showing  that  they  knew  every  inch  of  the 
way.  At  last  they  descended  to  the  valley,  and 
struck  out  rapidly  across  the  open  country,  till  they 
approached  a  secluded  farm-house,  where,  drawing 
rein,  they  entered  the  gateway,  and  surrounded  the 
dwelling. 

"  This  is  the  right  kind  of  a  Whig,  boys,  for  he's 
got  a  pile  of  hard  money  stowed  away  somewheres; 
so  don't  let  him  escape.  Bring  him  out,  Cole." 

The  man  thus  addressed  dismounted,  and  taking 
from  the  adjacent  woodpile  a  log  of  wood,  crashed 
in  the  door,  thus  rudely  arousing  their  victim  from 
his  slumbers. 

"  If  you  want  to  save  your  life,  come  out  and 
speak  to  me,"  shouted  Smith  ;  "  but  if  you  pull  a 
trigger  you  are  a  dead  man.  You  know  Claud 
Smith." 

The  wretched  farmer  knew  him  only  too  well, 
and  called,  "  I'll  come  as  soon  as  I  get  my  clothes 
on." 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS. 


153 


"  No  matter  about  your  clothes.  We  ain't  ovei 
modest,  and  it's  not  women  you've  got  to  deal  with 
I  can  tell  yer." 

The  man,  partially  dressed,  appeared  in  the  door 
way,  with  face  so  pale  that  it  looked  white  even  in 
the  starlight. 

"  Now,"  continued  Smith,  "  I've  got  two  things 
agin  you.  Fust,  you're  a  Whig  ;  and  second,  you're 
hoardin'  up  money  that  others  need  more'n  you  do. 
If  you  want  me  to  let  yer  off  on  the  first  offense, 
you  must  bring  out  every  shiner  you've  got." 

"  Now,  Smith,"  began  the  man  tremblingly,  "you 
are  entirely  mistaken.  I  haven't  got  any " 

"  Stop  your  jaw,"  said  the  robber  coarsely.  "  A 
man  that's  so  near  eternity  as  you  be  ought  to  look 
out  how  he  lies." 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  haven't— 

"  String  him  up,  boys  ;  we'll  help  his  memory." 

They  were  provided  with  a  rope  for  such  style  oi 
persuasion,  and  throwing  it  over  the  well-sweep, 
they  fastened  it  around  the  neck  of  their  victim, 
and  lifted  him  off  his  feet  for  a  moment. 

''Can  you  remember  where  it  is  now?"  asked 
Smith  unfeelingly. 

But  they  had  misjudged  their  man,  for  he  had 
that  kind  of  passive  courage  and  obstinacy  which 
rises  up  against  outrage,  and  is  strong  to  endure. 
Moreover,  his  gold  was  his  heart's  treasure,  and  he 
doggedly  resolved  to  part  with  life  first ;  so  he  said, 

"  I  know  you,  Smith;  you've  no  more  'feeling  than 
a  stone.     I  expect  you'll  take  my  life  any  way,  but 
you  shan't  have  my  money." 
7* 


!$4  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

"  Oh !  you  want  some  more  persuasion,  do  you  ? 
Up  with  him  again,  boys." 

They  kept  him  struggling  and  strangling  as  long 
as  they  dared  and  still  preserve  the  breath  of  life, 
and  then  let  his  feet  rest  on  the  ground. 

"  Now  you  see  how  mistaken  you  are,  and  how 
tender-hearted  I  am.  Here  I've  given  you  another 
chance  for  life ;  and  be  quick,  for  this  is  only  the  be 
ginning  of  our  night's  work." 

"  No,"  gasped  the  man  doggedly. 

"  No  ?  curse  you  !  I'll  soon  change  that  tune.  Up 
with  him  again." 

With  oaths  and  ribald  revilings,  the  bandits, 
whose  dusky  figures  seemed  those  of  demons,  obeyed 
the  diabolical  order.  When  they  again  let  him  down, 
the  farmer  was  unable  to  stand  ;  but,  in  response  to 
their  kicks  and  questions,  he  maintained  an  obstinate 
silence. 

"  Shall  we  string  him  up  and  leave  him  ?  "  asked 
Cole. 

Smith  hesitated,  and  for  a  moment  the  man's  life 
depended  oji  the  caprice  of  the  bandit's  lawless  will. 

Then  he  said,  carelessly, 

"  No,  let  him  alone.  I  rather  like  his  grit,  and 
I've  nothing  agin  him.  If  I  had,  old  feller,  I 
wouldn't  even  give  you  time  to  say  your  prayers 
Let  us  look  for  ourselves,  boys ;  mayhap  we'll  find 
e'nough  to  pay  us  for  coming  out  of  our  way." 

The  victim  crawled  to  his  door-step,  on  which  he 
sat  in  sullen  silence  while  they  ransacked  his  house 
in  no  gentle  style,  breaking  their  way  where  locks 
resisted.  But  the  farmer  had  concealed  his  coin  too 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD   OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.        155 

well  for  discovery.  In  order  to  spite  him,  however, 
they  carried  off  many  valuable  papers,  and  all  light 
articles  of  value  on  which  they  could  lay  their 
hands,  and  with  the  parting  salutation  of  a  kick  to 
their  half-murdered  host,  they  vanished  in  the  dark 
ness  as  rapidly  as  they  had  come. 

The  inmates  of  farm-houses  and  cabins  trembled 
as  they  clattered  by,  but  they  were  safe  for  that 
night,  as  the  next  point  at  which  Smith  meant  to 
strike  was  far  distant.  It  was  a  part  of  his  policy 
to  mislead  and  bewilder  the  authorities  by  dep 
redations  so  far  apart  as  to  make  it  seem  impossi 
ble  that  he  and  his  gang  were  the 'authors  in  each 
case. 

Their  long,  swinging  gallop  soon  brought  them  to 
the  mountains  again,  and  for  an  hour  they  slowly 
ascended  the  precipitous  sides ;  then,  like  the  wind, 
they  crossed  a  level  plateau,  and  afterward  con 
tinued  through  wild  and  unfrequented  roads  known 
to  few  save  themselves,  finding  breathing  places  for 
their  horses  when  the  ascent  or  descent  was  steep. 
In  about  three  hours  they  commenced  defiling  down 
what  was  little  more  than  a  path,  from  various  points 
of  which  the  gleam  of  the  Hudson  River  could  be 
seen  in  the  starlight.  The  way  was  rough  and  rocky, 
but  their  horses  had  been  trained  for  their  work  by 
many  similar  expeditions.  At  last  they  drew  near  the 
recently  commenced  military  works  at  Fort  Mont 
gomery,  and  their  approach  became  quiet  and 
stealthy. 

"  We  must  capture  one  of  the  garrison,"  said 
Smith  ;  "  for  if  we  can  send  a  full  account  of  what 


156  NEAR    TG  NATURE'S  HEART. 

the  Whigs  are  doing  here,  our  Tory  friends  in  the 
city  will  pay  us  well  for  it." 

Leaving  their  horses  in  a  clump  of  dark,  over 
shadowing  trees,  with  several  of  the  party  in  charge, 
Smith  and  three  others  cautiously  reconnoitered  on 
foot  until  they  reached  the  unfinished  line  of  the 
works.  Stealing  along  this  a  little  distance,  their 
steps  were  soon  arrested  by  a  slight  sound.  Lis 
tening  intently  for  a  few  moments,  Smith  turned 
and  whispered  succinctly, 

"  It's  some  cuss  asleep.     Leave  him  to  me." 

Advancing  cautiously  a  few  steps  further,  he  saw 
the  faint  outline  of  a  sentinel  leaning  against  a  small 
tree,  with  his  hands  crossed  on  the  muzzle  of  a  mus 
ket,  above  which  a  bayonet  gleamed.  The  Tory, 
quick  at  expedients,  instantly  formed  a  plan  for  his 
capture.  Summoning  his  three  comrades,  he  di 
rected  them  how  to  support  his  undertaking.  He 
then  took  from  one  of  them  his  leather  belt,  and 
stole  noiselessly  up  behind  the  tree  against  which 
his  victim  was  leaning,  and  whose  nasal  organ  made 
the  night  anything  but  musical.  Then,  like  a  flash, 
he  threw  the  belt  around  both  tree  and  man,  and 
secured  his  prisoner  by  drawing  the  buckle  tight. 

"  Och,  Molly,  me  darlint,  hold  on  a  bit.  Bloody 
blazes!  what's— 

Smith's  hand  stopped  further  utterance,  and  then 
a  handkerchief  was  tied  securely  over  his  mouth. 
The  other  bandits  came  up,  and  before  the  unwary 
sentinel  (who  was  no  other  than  the  unfortunate 
Larry,  and  whose  faculty  of  getting  into  trouble 
never  deserted  him)  was  fairly  awake,  he  was  bound 


THE    ROBIN   HOOD    OF    THE    HIGHLANDS.      157 

and  spirited  away,  giving  the  garrison  he  was  set 
to  guard  no  other  warning  save  the  remonstrance 
which  Molly's  sharp  tongue  and  heavy  hand  had 
made  habitual. 

When  they  reached  the  secluded  spot  where  the 
others  were  in  waiting,  Smith  put  a  pistol  to  Larry's 
head,  and  said, 

"  Now  speak  low,  and  speak  to  the  point,  if  you 
ever  want  to  speak  again.  Answer  my  questions  ;  I 
can  tell  whether  you  are  lying  or  not.  At  your  first 
lie  my  men  will  cut  your  juggler."  And  removing 
the  handkerchief,  he  asked  rapidly  about  the  number 
of  the  garrison  and  the  nature  of  the  work. 

Larry's  discretion  preserved  him  to  die  for  his 
country  upon  a  more  auspicious  occasion,  and  he 
answered  as  well  as  his  chattering  teeth  would  per 
mit.  Smith  was  soon  convinced  that  he  had  drawn 
from  him  all  he  knew,  and  then  said  coolly, 

"  Now  you  are  going  to  desert,  you  know.  If  I 
should  kill  you  and  leave  you  here,  it  might  make 
me  trouble.  You  will  have  to  disappear,  and  make 
your  cursed  Whig  commander  believe  that  you 
have  gone  off  to  parts  unknown.  We  shall  have  to 
take  you  with  us  till  we  find  a  good  place  for  you 
to  desert  in." 

These  words  had  such  a  mysterious  import  that 
Larry  resolved  to  make  a  desperate  effort  to  escape. 
But  his  hands  were  tied  behind  his  back,  and  the 
rope  they  had  used  on  the  farmer  was  about  his 
neck,  with  which  they  hustled  him  along  as  they 
resumed  their  march  northward,  tending  toward  the 
river  bank. 


1 58  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

"Sure  an'  ye're  not  goin'  to  murther  me?"  gasped 
Larry. 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  that's  about  it,  in  plain  English," 
said  Smith. 

"  Surely  ye'll  not  shed  innocent  blood  ?  " 

"Your  blood  isn't  innocent.  In  the  first  place, 

you're  a Whig :  in  the  second  place,  you  were 

sleeping  on  your  post,  and  your  own  officers  would 
shoot  you  for  that  to-morrow  ;  at  least  they  ought 
to,  and  we'll  save  them  the  trouble." 

"What  are  yees  goin'  to  do  wid  me?"  asked 
Larry  hoarsely. 

"  Oh,  put  you  quietly  out  of  the  way,  where  you 
will  do  no  harm,"  said  Smith,  who  rather  enjoyed 
Larry's  terror  ;  "  they  say  dead  men  tell  no  tales ; 
but  it's  an  infernal  lie.  There  are  times  when  I 
don't  want  either  dead  or  live  men  on  my  trail." 

Larry  was  now  satisfied  that  if  he  ever  saw  Molly 
again  he  must  act  promptly,  and  with  almost  super 
human  strength  he  tugged  at.  the  cord  that  bound 
his  hands.  With  a  thrill  of  hope  he  was  at  last 
able  to  draw  one  hand  out  of  its  confinement,  and 
thus  relieved  them  both,  but  had  the  presence  of 
mind  to  keep  them  together  as  before,  so  that  their 
freedom  was  unnoted,  and  continued  on  a  little 
further  with  the  gang,  till  they  came  to  where  a 
steep  bank  shelved  down  into  the  darkness  on  one 
side  of  the  road.  Then,  with  the  celerity  which  his 
desperate  emergency  prompted,  he  drew  his  knife, 
cut  the  rope  around  his  neck,  and  bounded  over  the 
bank,  rolling,  tumbling,  springing,  he  knew  not 
whither,  in  the  mad  desire  to  get  away. 


THE    ROBIN  HOOD    OF    THE    HIGHLANDS.      15^ 

For  a  moment  his  captors  were  so  astonished  that 
they  did  not  move  ;  then  Smith  cried, 

"  Don't  shoot.  After  him ;  cut  his  throat,  and 
hide  his  body." 

Two  of  the  most  active  sprang  from  their  horses, 
and  commenced  descending  the  rocky,  precipitous 
bank.  But  Larry  had  the  start,  and  his  pursuers 
were  not  willing  to  go  at  his  breakneck  pace.  For 
a  wonder,  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  ravine 
sound  in  limb,  and  darted  off  in  the  darkness  among 
the  concealing  copse-wood,  soon  becoming  utterly 
lost  to  view.  The  baffled  brigands  gave  up  the 
chase,  and  returned,  grumbling  and  swearing,  to 
their  horses.  Nor  were  their  ruffled  tempers 
soothed  by  the  volley  of  curses  received  from  their 
leader. 

"  I  could  have  shot  him  if  you  hadn't  stopped 
me,"  said  Cole. 

"Yes,  and  brought  the  garrison  clattering  after 
us.  I  had  other  work  on  hand  before  I  crossed  the 
mountains,  and  I  won't  be  balked  either;  so  come." 
And  away  like  a  thundergust  they  sped  to  work 
destruction  elsewhere. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  Larry  re 
gained  his  post,  and  found,  to  his  joy,  that  the  time 
for  the  relief  of  guard  had  not  come.  Dodging 
around  in  shadow,  he  reached  his  quarters,  and 
awakened  Molly  as  roughly  as  he  had  imagined  she 
was  rousing  him  when  the  Tory  pinioned  him  to  the 
tree. 

"  Bloody  murther!  "  spluttered  Molly. 

"  Hist,  or  I'll  throttle  ye.     It's  me— Larry.     If  ye 


l6o  NRAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

don't  want  to  see  me  shot  in  the  mornin',  git  me  a 
musket  in  a  wink." 

"  Faix,  an*  I'll  shoot  ye  meself,  if  ye  don't  be 
quiet.  Ye've  been  drinkin'." 

"  Now,  Molly,  me  darlint,  I'll  tell  ye  all  in  the 
mornin';  but  if  ye  don't  stale  out  an'  git  me  a  mus 
ket,  I'm  the  same  as  a  dead  man.  They  won't  mind 
yees  if  ye  is  seen,  but  if  they  cotch  me,  it's  all  up. 
Don't  ye  see?  I'm  off  me  post.  I've  been  robbed 
and  murthered,  an'  to-morry  I'll  be  shot.  Yees  can 
stale  to  the  armory  an'  git  me  one  in  a  jiffy.  Go 
quick,  or  I'll  haunt  ye  all  yer  days." 

This  dire  threat  roused  Molly  to  action,  and 
she  now  began  to  realize,  from  Larry's  desperate 
earnestness,  that  the  emergency  was  pressing.  Her 
husband  threw  a  gray  blanket  around  her,  and  with 
bare  feet  and  noiseless  tread,  she  slipped  to  a  forge 
near  by,-  where  arms  were  repaired,  and  soon  re 
turned,  saying, 

"  There,  now,  look  to  yerself,  for  I  don't  want  to 
be  bothered  wid  ye  after  ye're  dead."  A  moment 
later  Larry  was  back  to  his  post,  where  he  stood, 
straight  as  a  ramrod,  often  rubbing  his  eyes,  to  make 
sure  it  was  not  all  a  dream.  But  his  torn  clothes, 
aching  wrists,  and  bruised  limbs  proved  the  reality 
of  his  strange  experience,  and  he  was  only  too  glad 
that  the  loose  discipline  of  the  incipient  fort  had 
enabled  him  to  gain  his  beat  without  detection. 
When,  a  little  later,  the  officer  of  the  guard  came 
around  with  his  squad,  Larry  challenged  him  with 
great  promptness,  and  went  rejoicing  to  his  quar 
ters  with  an  encomium  on  his  vigilance.  But  his 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD   OF  THE  HIGHLANDS.       iGl 

tale  was  so  strange  that  Molly  would  not  believe  it, 
and  her  only  comment  was, 

"  I  thought  ye'd  be  mare-ridden  afther  the  sup 
per  ye  ate.  Ye'd  better  find  that  firelock  in  the 
mornin'." 

But  when,  in  the  morning,  she  saw  his  wrists  and 
bruises,  and  the  gaps  in  his  clothes  which  she  must 
mend,  she  consoled  him  by  saying, 

"  Och,  ye  spalpeen  !  it  was  the  divil  himself  as  had 
ye;  better  mend  yer  ways." 

Larry  shook  his  head,  but  resolved  that  he  would 
put  chestnut  burrs  in  his  shoes  before  he  slept  on  his 
post  again. 

Smith  and  his  followers  soon  reached  the  vicinity 
of  the  lonely  log-cabin  back  of  West  Point,  where 
Vera  was  keeping  her  patient  watch.  As  they  struck 
up  the  glen  leading  to  the  dwelling,  Cole  sidled  up 
to  his  leader,  and  said, 

"  Claud,  you're  not  goin*  to  Brown's?" 

"Yes,  lam.     Why  not?" 

"  Well/'  continued  the  superstitious  robber,  "  they 
say  everything  is  not  right  there,  and  that  the  old 
black  witch  as  lives  with  them  can  do  with  a  feller 
just  what  she  pleases.  I'm  not  afraid  of  flesh  and 
blood,  but  our  weapons  ain't  o'  much  account  agin 
the  devil." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  man  or  devil,"  said  Smith  sur* 
lily.  "  They  say  there's  a  lot  of  hard  money  hid  in 
that  cabin,  and  I'm  not  goin'  home  empty-handed, 
after  such  a  ride  as  we've  had  to-night." 

Cole's  words,  however,  oppressed  the  mind  of 
the  leader,  for  superstition  is  rarely  divorced  from 


1 62  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

ignorance  and  crime.  He  also  saw  that  Cole's  fear 
was  shared  by  the  rest  of  the  gang  ;  so  he  caused 
them  to  halt,  and  passed  around  the  flask  of  whisky 
again.  Under  this  stimulus  they  advanced,  and 
were  glad  to  hear  sounds  that  were  earthly,  as  the 
great  dogs  bounded  fiercely  toward  them.  Two 
shots  in  quick  succession  dispatched  them,  and  after 
their  dying  whine  ceased,  all  was  still — it  seemed  to 
them  strangely  and  unnaturally  still.  They  supposed 
the  owner  of  the  cabin  would  appear,  but  there  was 
not  a  sound. 

Smith  took  another  pull  at  the  flask,  and  then 
approached  the  door,  but  the  same  oppressive  silence 
continued  ;  a  dread  and  restraint  that  he  could  not 
understand  chilled  his  heart,  and  the  fire  that  flick 
ered  on  the  hearth  filled  the  cabin,  as  seen  through 
the  windows,  with  fitful  and  fantastic  shadows. 

"  Come  away,  Claud,"  muttered  his%eompanions ; 
"  this  is  no  place  for  us." 

But  the  hardihood  of  the  man  prevailed.  Taking 
another  fiery  draught,  he  cocked  his  pistol,  and 
went  straight  to  the  door  and  knocked. 

There  was  no  response. 

He  lifted  the  latch,  and  it  yielded  to  him.  Step 
ping  within,  he  stood  transfixed.  Gleaming  out 
upon  him  from  where  she  crouched  by  the  fireplace 
was  the  weird,  unearthly  visage  of  old  Gula,  whose 
fixed  gaze  of  terror  was  to  him  a  Gorgon  stare. 
More  awful  to  the  guilty  soul  was  the  white,  dead 
face  turned  toward  him  from  the  bed.  Vera  knelt 
by  her  mother  with  clasped  hands  and  eyes  turned 
heavenward,  and  her  beauty,  pallor,  and  attitude 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD   OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.      163 

gave  her  a  spiritual  rather  than  an  earthly  aspect. 
But  not  a  sound  broke  the  silence  that  had  now 
become  awful  to  the  man  of  blood,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  could  not  break  the  spell  himself.  A 
jet  of  flame  leaped  up  suddenly  from  the  hearth,  and 
the  strange  inmates  of  the  cabin  seemed  to  dilate  as 
if  in  supernatural  light.  A  panic  seized  upon  the 
robber.  He  turned  upon  his  heel,  and,  without  a 
word,  sprang  upon  his  horse  and  galloped  away  with 
his  trembling  companions ;  nor  did  they  draw  rein 
till  far  up  among  the  mountains.  Speaking  of  it 
afterward,  Smith  said  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  a 
great  hand  took  him  by  the  shoulder  and  thrust  him 
out. 

At  the  first  fierce  clamor  of  the  dogs,  Vera  felt  a 
sudden  shock  of  terror,  which  the  firing  increased ; 
but  her  training  and  her  own  instincts  led  her  to  lift 
her  heart  at  pnce  to  God.  Then  came  the  impulse 
to  trust  Him  only,  and  stepping  to  the  door,  she 
unbarred  it,  and  then  knelt  by  her  mother's  side,  in 
which  attitude  she  remained  until  the  clatter  of  the 
flying  bandits  died  away.  When  she  arose,  she  said, 

"  '  Fear  not,'  Gula,  '  for  they  that  be  with  us  are 
more  than  they  that  be  with  them.'  If  God  should 
open  our  eyes  as  he  did  the  eyes  of  the  young  ser 
vant  of  EUsha,  we,  too,  would  see  that  '  the  moun 
tain  is  full  of  horses  and  chariots  of  fire  round  about ' 
us." 

"Your  God  seems  mighty  po'ful,"  said  the  ne. 
gress,  with  awe  in  tone  and  manner,  "  but  Gula  's 
too  ole  to  be  changin'  Gods  at  her  time  o'  life.  De 
captain  ob  de  floatin*  misery  dat  brought  me  from 


164  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

my  home,  and  de  mas'r  dat  used  to  whip  my  ole 
dead  body,  sot  great  store  by  your  God,  and  was 
allus  axin'  him  to  dam  folks,  whatever  dat  was  ;  and 
I'se  afeard  if  I  should  pray  to  him  he'd  take  me  to 
whare  ole  mas'r  is,  and  I  doesn't  want  to  see  him 
no  mo'.  I  wants  to  go  back  to  my  ole  home." 

Vera  sighed  deeply,  for  Gula's  harsh  experience, 
which  she  could  not  fail  to  associate  with  the  Divine 
name  that  she  heard  so  often,  raised  perplexing 
questions.  But  after  a  little  the  young  girl  said 
thoughtfully, 

"  I  do  not  think  your  old  master  will  be  where 
mother  is.  God  does  not  mix  winter  and  summer 
together.  No  more  will  he  join  the  cruel  and  brutal 
with  the  loving  and  gentle.  Suppose  my  God  should 
take  you  to  where  mother  is  ?  " 

Old  Gula  shook  her  head,  saying,  "  I'd  like 
po'ful  well  to  see  old  missus,  an  p'raps  dey'd  let  me 
visit  her.  But  I  doesn't  want  to  take  no  risks  ob 
meetin'  ole  mas'r  agin,  and  I  does  want  ter  see  my 
ole  home.  Oh  !  dat  I  might  go  dis  minute." 

With  such  quaint,  unearthly  talk  the  Christian 
maiden,  who  was  scarcely  more  than  a  child,  and  the 
pagan  slave  beguiled  the  heavy  hours.  In  their  be 
liefs,  as  in  their  appearance,  there  was  seemingly 
wide  diversity ;  trut  in  the  only  kinship  that  is 
abiding — that  of  love — and  in  God's  eyes,  they  were 
not  so  far  apart  as  many  who  bow  together  at  his 
altar.  The  fathomless  chasm  of  evil  did  not  divide 
them,  and  perhaps  at  last  old  Gula  would  find  her 
tropical  home  so  blended  with  Vera's  paradise  as  to 
be  content. 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS. 


I6S 


NOTE  TO-PRECEDING  CHAPTER. — Claudius  Smith  is  not  a  fictitious 
character,  but  was  once  the  terror  of  the  region  adjacent  to  the  High 
lands  of  the  Hudson.  The  robbery  of  the  farmer  actually  took  place 
as  described,  and  is  only  antedated  little  more  than  a  year.  When 
Smith  was  hung  at  Goshen,  N.  Y.,  January  22d,  1779,  this  farmer 
asked  Smith  where  valuable  papers  he  had  stolen  were. 

"  Meet  me  in  the  next  world  and  I  will  tell  you,"  was  the  grim 
reply. 

His  tall  and  splendid  form,  arrayed  in  rich  broadcloth  with  silver 
buttons,  combined  with  his  fearless  and  almost  manly  bearing,  made 
him  an  imposing  figure  on  .the  scaffold ;  and  even  in  the  hour  of 
death  he  inspired  something  like  dread  and  respect  in  the  vast  throng 
that  witnessed  his  exit.  His  deep  depravity,  or,  perhaps,  more  cor 
rectly  speaking,  his  lack  of  a  moral  nature,  was  shown  at  the  last 
moment  by  a  characteristic  act.  Just  before  he  was  hung  he  "  kicked 
off  his  shoes,"  with  the  brutal  remark 

"  Mother  often  said  I  would  die  like  a  trooper's  horse  with  my 
shoes  on  ;  but  I  will  make  her  a  liar." 


1 66  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS   HER  CHILD. 

THE  winter  had  passed  rather  drearily  and  un 
satisfactorily  to  Saville.  The  garrison  at  Con 
stitution  Island  was  small,  and  the  works  on  the 
fortifications  advanced  slowly.  Although  his  educa 
tion  as  an  engineer  had  been  superficial,  he  was 
satisfied  that  Colonel  Roman's  draughts  and  lines 
of  defense  were  very  defective,  and  that  time  and 
money  were  spent  to  little  purpose.  Moreover,  his 
visits  to  the  western  shore,  and  his  excursions  after 
game,  had  shown  him  that  the  island  was  over 
looked  and  commanded  by  more  advantageous 
points.  But  his  frank  statements  to  this  effect  had 
not  won  him  favor  with  his  superior  officers,  who 
were  ignorant  and  incompetent,  and  had  more  than 
humanity's  average  dislike  for  criticism.  Moreover, 
Saville  was  so  often  faulty  in  the  details  of  his  pro 
fession  as  to  be  frequently  open  to  censure  himself, 
and  his  prospects  of  promotion  were  not  very  flat 
tering.  He  would  have  much  preferred  active  ser 
vice  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy  ;  but  such  was  the 
dearth  of  engineers  that  he  was  kept  at  labors  much 
too  peaceful  for  his  fiery  spirit. 

He  had,  besides,  another  cause  for  dissatisfaction 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER   CHILD. 


I67 


and  uneasiness,  which  also  increased  his  unpopularity 
in  certain  quarters.  It  was  impossible  for  one  of  his 
frank  and  outspoken  nature  to  nurse  his  unbelief  in 
silence.  He  even  felt  it  a  privilege  and  a  duty  to 
advotate  the  new  ideas  acquired  abroad,  and  soon 
had  quite  a  following  of  young  and  unstable  men,  to 
whom  he  often  discoursed  in  his  glowing  style  on 
what  he  termed  "  the  absurd  and  antiquated  beliefs 
and  systems  of  the  past,  originated  by  shrewd  old 
schemers  who  constructed  and  maintained  them  for 
their  own  advantage.  They  had  been  imposed  upon 
men  in  times  of  general  ignorance,"  he  said ;  '*  but 
the  age  had  come  when  men  would  use  their  reason, 
and  break  away  from  the  tyranny  of  custom  and  the 
trammels  of  superstition.  Man  should  be  true  to 
himself,  and  obey  the  laws  which  he  found  existing 
in  his  own  nature,  instead  of  trembling  before  an 
imaginary  God  seated  on  a  throne  which  no  one  had 
ever  seen.  The  idea  of  men  in  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury  bowing  down  to  an  ancient  Hebrew  divinity! 
Why  not  also  before  Isis,  Jupiter,  and  Odin?" 
But  the  practical  results  of  his  bold,  brilliant  theo 
rizing  perplexed  and  troubled  him.  So  far  as  his 
sophistries  found  acceptance,  and  he  succeeded  in  re 
moving  from  his  listeners  the  idea  of  a  personal  God 
to  whom  they  were  accountable,  they  became  reck 
less,  vicious,  and  generally  demoralized.  It  was 
said,  and  with  seeming  good  reason,  that  "  Saville 
had  a  very  bad  influence  over  his  associates."  It  was 
not,  however,  the  man  himself,  but  his  pernicious 
opinions,  that  did  the  mischief.  Those  whose  minds 
he  poisoned  were  coarser-grained  than  he,  and  had 


1 68  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

not  his  resources  of  culture,  nor  his  repugnance  to 
the  gross  vices  of  the  camp.  It  was  in  vain  that  he 
remonstrated  with  them.  His  skeptical  words  had 
broken  down  the  barriers  of  a  wholesome  fear, 
which,  with  many,  serves  for  a  time  in  the  place  of 
principle;  and  the  dark  tides  of  evil  flowed  in  unre 
strained.  Thus  he  unwittingly  made  them  uncon 
genial  companions  for  himself;  and,  as  spring  ad 
vanced,  and  his  life  grew  lonely  and  isolated  as  he 
recalled  his  wife's  unnatural  course  toward  him  ;  as 
he  remembered  that  his  mother  was  grieving  over 
his  action  as  a  great  misfortune ;  as  he  saw  those 
who  had  in  a  measure  accepted  his  iconoclastic  and 
skeptical  views  sinking  far  below  the  level  of  true 
manhood,  his  spirit  at  times  grew  bitter  and  resent 
ful,  and  he  would  say, 

"  Everything  I  touch  blackens,  and  even  to  my 
mother  I  am  only  a  source  of  sorrow  and  anxiety. 
What  is  the  evil  fatality  of  my  life  ?  " 

But  his  nature  was  too  sanguine  and  healthful  for 
any  continued  morbid  brooding,  and  he  would  soon 
throw  off  the  burden  of  unhappy  thoughts,  and  hope 
for  better  things. 

Vera's  quest  of  the  surgeon  had  renewed  his 
interest  in  one  whose  character  seemed  so  unique 
that  he  felt  quite  a  strong  desire  to  explore  further; 
for  he  had  a  Frenchman's  love  of  companionship, 
providing  it  was  tolerably  congenial. 

The  difficulty  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  the 
family  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  now  acted 
only  as  an  incentive.  Perhaps  the  man  was  a  political 
refugee,  and  whatever  was  the  cause  of  his  seclusion 


THE  MOTHER   STILL  PROTECTS  HER   CHILD,     169 

he  and  his  certainly  did  not  belong  to  the  class  of 
vulgar  criminals.  Possibly,  if  he  crossed  the  river 
with  his  flute,  and,  within  hearing  of  the  cabin, 
played  the  air  which  he  and  Vera  had  come  to 
associate  with  each  other/  the  air  to  which  he  had 
first  heard  her  sing  the  exquisite  words, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows," 

he  might  lure  the  young  girl  to  an  interview.  But, 
recalling  his  experience  with  the  fierce  dogs,  and 
their  equally  dangerous  master,  he  also  took  his  arms. 
Remembering  that  the  cabin  was  at  the  base  of  a 
rocky  height,  he  concluded  that,  by  scaling  this,  he 
might  overlook  the  habitation  unobserved.  The 
lovely  spring  day  was  declining  when  he  reached  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  where  now  are  the  ruins  of  Fort 
Putnam,  and  found  that  he  could  there,  among  the 
sheltering  evergreens,  securely  carry  forward  his 
reconnoissance.  With  his  glass  he  was  able  to  sub 
ject  everything  to  the  closest  scrutiny  ;  but  there 
was  no  one  in  sight,  and  even  the  great  dogs  were 
not  visible.  At  first,  he  hoped  that  the  man  had 
gone  away  and  taken  them  with  him,  and  he  was 
about  to  tune  his  flute  to  the  musical  signal  which 
he  was  in  hopes  the  daughter  would  answer,  when 
his  attention  was  caught  by  an  ominous  heap  of 
newly  turned  earth  under  a  wide-spreading  elm  not 
very  distant  from  the  house.  Its  meaning  was  soon 
shown,  for  the  door  of  the  cottage  opened,  and 
there  issued  forth  the  strangest  funeral  procession 
that  he  had  ever  seen.  It  consisted  only  of  three  : 
the  husband,  who  carried  upon  his  shoulder  the  coffin 
8 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

containing  the  light  and  wasted  form  of  his  wife ; 
Vera,  and  old  Gula.  Vera  carried  a  large  cross  of 
flowers,  composed  of  the  white  blossoms  of  the  dog 
wood  and  blood-root,  while  the  negress  followed 
with  two  wreaths  of  evergreens.  Slowly,  and  with 
bowed  heads,  they  carried  the  wife  and  mother  from 
one  lowly  home  to  the  last  and  most  lowly  of  all. 
Then  Gula  helped  her  master  to  lower  the  coffin 
into  the  grave,  while  Vera  stood  sobbing  by.  Nor 
would  she  permit  any  one  to  put  the  floral  cross  and 
wreaths  of  laurel  upon  the  coffin  of  her  mother 
save  herself.  Then  all  three  stood  a  few  moments 
in  silence  at  the  side  of  the  open  grave,  as  they 
might  upon  the  shores  of  an  ocean  across  which  one 
very  dear  had  passed  beyond  their  reach.  The  man, 
with  folded  arms  and  bowed  head,  stood  as  motion 
less  as  a  statue,  while  Vera,  after  a  few  moments, 
opened  a  book,  which  Saville  afterward  learned  was 
the  Bible,  and  with  a  voice  choked  with  sobs  and 
interrupted  by  bitter  weeping,  tried  to  read  those 
sublime  and  inspired  words  which  form  part  of  the 
burial  service  in  all  Christian  lands,  commencing, 

"  So  also  is  the  resurrection  of  the  dead." 
,  Saville  had  become  so  intensely  interested  in  the 
scene  that  he  had  stolen  with  noiseless  tread  through 
the  sheltering  cedars  sufficiently  near  to  catch  the 
broken  utterances  ;  and  though  he  had  heard  bish 
ops  and  eloquent  men  read  those  words,  never  before 
had  he  been  so  impressed  with  them.  Tears  of  sym 
pathy  started  to  his  own  eyes,  and  he  thought, 

"  Poor  child,  that  beautiful  fiction  is  a  comfort  to 
her  now.    It's  a  pity  to  disturb  some  of  these  super- 


THE  MOTHER   STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD.     171 

stitions,  since  they  soften  many  of  the  inevitable  ills 
of  our  lot  to  those  who  can  believe." 

After  closing  the  Bible,  Vera  tried  to  chant  the 
Twenty-third  Psalm,  which  her  mother  had  asked  for 
just  before  her  death  ;  but  after  a  few  broken,  plain 
tive  strains,  her  grief  overpowered  her.  The  thought 
of  that  dear  form  being  covered  with  the  cold,  black 
earth  was  too  terrible  to  be  borne,  nor  would  she 
remain  as  a  witness,  and  so  she  fled  to  her  own  little 
retreat  in  the  side  of  the  hill  back  of  the  cabin.  Old 
Gula  soon  tottered  after,  moaning  and  wringing  her 
hands  in  her  honest  grief. 

At  last  the  man  started  out  of  his  stony  paraly 
sis,  and  seizing  the  spade,  worked  with  superhuman 
energy  till  the  grave  was  filled  and  mounded.  Then 
going  to  the  house,  he  took  his  rifle  and  started  up 
the  glen.  He  was  soon  lost  to  view,  and  the  place 
became  as  silent  and  apparently  as  deserted  as  when 
Saville  first  saw  it. 

He  wondered  what  had  become  of  the  dogs.  Ven 
turing  down  into  the  valley,  a  little  distance  below, 
he  found  their  dead  bodies.  Here  was  another 
mystery.  He  waited  for  a  time,  hoping  that  Vera 
would  come  to  the  grave,  for  she  seemed  so  alone 
in  her  sorrow  that  he  longed  to  assure  her  even  of  a 
stranger's  sympathy.  He  had  been  deeply  touched 
by  the  scene  he  had  witnessed,  and  his  curiosity  had 
developed  into  the  most  kindly  interest.  He  felt 
that  he  could  not  go  away  until  he  had  told  her 
that  if  he  could  ever  be  of  help  to  her  she  must 
come  to  him  again.  At  first,  he  thought  he  would 
go  directly  to  the  door  and  ask  to  see  her ;  but, 


172 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


acting  upon  another  impulse,  he  sat  down  by  the 
grave,  and  commenced  playing  a  beautiful  dirge  that 
he  had  learned  abroad. 

He  was  soon  rewarded  by  seeing  the  door  open, 
and  the  maiden  appear,  looking  wonderingly  up,  as 
if  she  thought  the  music  came  from  the  air.  But, 
on  recognizing  him,  she  was  much  startled.  Still 
she  did  not  turn  away,  nor  did  Saville  cease  his 
music,  but  only  sought  to  give  it  a  more  plaintive 
and  tender  character.  After  a  moment's  debate 
with  herself,  Vera  approached  with  hesitating  steps, 
like  a  timid  fawn.  Then  Saville  arose,  and  taking 
off  his  hat,  awaited  her  coming. 

"  Will  you  forgive  a  stranger  for  intruding  on  your 
sorrow,  when  his  only  motive  is  sympathy?"  he 
asked  gently. 

Vera  essayed  to  speak,  but  found  no  words. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  sorry  I  came.  I"  would  not 
force  my  company  upon  you  now." 

"  No — oh,  no.  I  am  not  sorry.  I  think  God  sent 
you.  I  was  so  lonely,  it  seemed  as  if  my  heart  was 
breaking.  Pardon  me,  I  have  such  a  pain  here 
(pressing  her  hand  upon  her  side)  that  I  can  hardly 
speak." 

"  I  feel  very  deeply  for  you,"  said  Saville  sooth 
ingly;  and  he  took  her  hand  and  gave  her  a  seat  on 
a  rock  beside  the  grave.  "  Is  there  anything  I  can 
do  to  comfort  you  ?  Though  a  stranger,  you  surely 
can  trust  me  in  this  sacred  place.  I  do  not  think 
there  is  a  wretch  in  the  world  who  could  harbor  an 
injurious  thought  against  you  by  your  mother's 
grave." 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER   CHILD. 


173 


"  I  am  sure  you  could  not,"  said  Vera  grate 
fully  ;  "  and  you  are  less  a  stranger  to  me  than  any 
one  else  in  all  the  world." 

"  Can  it  be  true  that  you  have  no  friends — no 
acquaintances — beyond  the  inmates  of  the  cottage 
there?" 

"  It  is  true :  while  mother  lived  she  was  every 
thing  to  me,  and  when  I  saw  her  placed  in  the 
ground,  the  world  turned  black.  If  she  could  only 
have  taken  me  with  her !  " 

"  But  that  would  leave  the  world  '  black '  for  some 
one  else,"  said  Saville  gently.  "  That  might  be 
more  than  your  father  could  bear." 

"  I  know  it's  selfish  and  wrong  for  one  to  feel  so, 
especially  when  mother  is,  at  last,  well  and  happy ; 
though  just  how  she  can  be  when  I  am  so  unhappy 
is  hard  to  understand." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  poor  child." 

"  It  will  seem  right  by  and  by,"  Vera  continued, 
more  calmly  and  patiently.  " '  What  I  do  thou 
knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter.' 
Already  I  see  He  will  not  make  the  burden  heavier 
than  I  can  bear,  for  He  sent  you  here  when  it 
seemed  I  could  not  endure  my  lonely  feelings  any 
longer." 

Saville  was  deeply  stirred,  for  he  was  by  nature 
very  sympathetic  and  emotional.  But  he  must  have 
been  unnaturally  callous,  could  he  have  looked  un 
moved  upon  Vera  as  she  turned  to  him  in  her  terrible 
isolation  and  sorrow.  Little  other  claim  had  she 
upon  him  save  that  of  kindred  humanity ;  and  yet 
it  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  the  only  one  that  could 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

be  sent  out  of  the  strange  unfamiliar  world,  whose 
words  and  presence  would  not  be  a  burden. 

To  Saville,  led,  as  he  was  ever  prone  to  be,  by  his 
generosity  and  imagination,  it  appeared  that  this 
orphan,  in  her  loneliness  and  bereavement,  had  the 
most  sacred  claims  upon  him.  Because  she  was 
so  friendless  and  defenseless,  his  chivalric  spirit 
acknowledged  her  right  to  seek  help  from  him. 

When  men  are  devoid  of  faith  in  a  personal  God 
who  is  intelligently  shaping  the  destiny  of  his 
creatures,  and  controlling  events,  they  are  prone  to 
believe  in  such  vague  abstractions  as  fate,  destiny, 
and  fortune.  That  he  should  have  met  Vera  as  he 
had  in  the  first  instance,  and  then  have  received  her 
at  the  island,  when  she  came  in  the  vain  hope  of 
finding  help  for  her  mother ;  that  the  young  girl 
should  take  his  proffered  sympathy  as  if  famishing 
for  human  fellowship,  and  even  in  her  strong  super 
stition  feel  that  her  God  had  sent  him, — all  together 
combined  to  kindle  his  quick  fancy,  and  impressed 
him  with  the  feeling  that  in  this  case  humanity 
asserted  one  of  the  strongest  claims  that  would  ever 
rest  upon  him.  At  the  same  time,  he  was  not  con 
scious  of  the  degree  in  which  Vera's  beauty,  youth, 
and  uniqueness  of  character  emphasized  this  claim. 

With  all  his  faults,  he  had  no  small  vanity  to 
mislead  him,  and  was  sufficiently  pure  and  noble 
to  understand  Vera's  innocent  welcome  and  frank 
expression  of  relief  that  he  had  come.  He  re-, 
garded  her  feeling  as  an  intense  desire  to  escape 
from  the  awful  solitude  of  sorrow.  Sympathy  from 
one's  own  kind  is  one  of  the  deepest  and  most 


THE  MOTHER   STILL  PROTECTS  HER   CHILD.     175 

instinctive  wants  of  the  heart ;  and  there  are  times 
when  it  must  be  had,  or  the  consequences  are  dis 
astrous.  No  nature  that  is  human  is  self-sufficient 
in  every  emergency  of  life ;  for  even  the  pure  and 
perfect  human  nature  of  our  Lord,  though  allied  with 
Divinity,  pleaded  with  the  drowsy  disciples,  "  Watch 
with  me."  This  request  was  not  a  mere  form,  nor  a 
test  of  their  loyalty,  but  the  inevitable  appeal  for 
support  which  ever  comes  from  suffering.  The 
larger  and  more  perfect  the  nature,  the  more  deeply 
is  this  want  felt.  But,  while  human  kindness  and 
consideration  can  do  much  to  assuage  this  eager 
hunger  of  the  heart,  it  cannot  satisfy.  The  ex 
perience  of  Gethsemane  is  well-nigh  universal,  and 
there  come  to  all,  hours  of  darkness  when  earthly 
friendship  is  as  unavailable  as  that  of  the  men  who 
slept  through  their  Master's  grief  when  he  was  but  a 
"  stone's  cast  "  away. 

How  true  this  was  in  Vera's  experience  will  be 
seen  hereafter ;  but  now  she  saw  that  the  stranger, 
toward  whom  her  thoughts  had  so  often  turned, 
was  strangely  moved  in  her  behalf,  and  it  greatly 
comforted  her.  She  felt  almost  sure  that  God  had 
sent  him,  and  that  he  would  become  such  a  friend  as 
her  mother  desired  her  to  gain, — one  that  would 
enable  her  to  make  further  acquaintance  with  her 
fellow  creatures,  and  escape  from  her  dangerous 
isolation.  The  thought  of  anything  like  love,  which 
might  end  in  an  alliance  with  this  young  man,  had 
never  entered  her  mind.  She  did  not  know  what 
love  was,  save  that  love  which,  in  its  tranquil  phases 
had  swayed  her  since  childhood. 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

As  has  been  said,  Saville  was  large-minded  enough 
to  understand  that  she  welcomed  him  as  a  captive 
might ;  and  that  he,  in  some  degree,  satisfied  a 
natural  craving  for  sympathy  and  companionship. 
He  also  saw  that  she  was  as  guileless  and  ignorant 
of  the  world,  as  she  was  friendless  and  in  need  of 
guardianship  ;  and  every  generous  trait  in  his  nature 
responded  to  her  unconscious  appeal.  He  took  her 
hand,  and  said, 

"  You  are,  indeed,  very  much  alone  in  the  world. 
I  never  knew  any  one  quite  so  friendless,  who  was 
as  good  as  you  are." 

"You  are  almost  the  only  one  I  have  ever  spoken 
to,  save  mother,  father,  and  old  Gula,"  replied  Vera, 
looking  into  his  face  as  frankly  and  gratefully  as  a 
little  child. 

"  Would  you  like  to  speak  to  me  often  ?  Would 
you  like  to  have  me  as  a  friend  to  whom  you  could 
tell  your  troubles,  and  from  whom  you  could  ask 
help  and  advice  without  any  fear  ?  I  am  willing  to 
be  a  brother  to  you  as  nearly  as  I  can." 

Vera's  lovely  face  was  fairly  illumined  with  grati 
tude;  but,  without  removing  her  frank  and  childlike 
gaze,  before  which  a  bad  and  designing  man  would 
have  shrunk  abashed,  she  said,  earnestly, 

"  And  can  you  offer  so  much  to  one  who  has  so 
little  claim  upon  you  ?  " 

"  Who  could  have  a  stronger  claim  ?  Your  need, 
your  loneliness  and  sorrow,  your  youth,  beauty,  and 
ignorance  of  the  world  and  its  dangers,  would 
awaken  a  chivalrous  spirit  in  the  basest  of  men;  and 
such,  believe  me,  I  am  not,  with  all  my  faults.  Let 


THE  MOTHER   STILL  PROTECTS  HER   CHILD,     j;; 

me,  then,  be  a  friend  and  brother,  till  you  can  find 
better  and  more  helpful  friends." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  I  could  use  you  only  as  a 
stepping-stone  on  which  to  cross  a  rough  place  ?  " 
said  Vera,  a  little  reproachfully.  "  Ingratitude  is  a 
'  marble-hearted  fiend.'  No  friend  can  ever  take  the 
place  of  one  who  has  been  kind  to  me  at  this  time. 
But,  humble  and  friendless  as  I  am,  there  are  condi 
tions  of  which  I  must  speak  first.  I  am,  indeed, 
alone.  There  is  no  one  to  guide  or  counsel  me,  and 
I  must  follow  mother's  teachings  and  words,  as  far 
as  I  can  remember  them.  She  told  me  that  if  I 
ever  made  friends,  the  first  thing  I  must  try  to  be 
sure  of  was  their  truthfulness  ;  for  she  said  no  good 
qualities  could  take  the  place  of  truth,  and  that,  if 
this  were  lacking,  all  else  would  fail.  I  feel  sure 
that  you  are  true  and  honorable.  My  heart  tells  me 
that  you  are.  You  would  not  deceive  me  anywhere, 
much  less  here,"  with  a  little,  eloquent  gesture  toward 
the  spot  where  her  mother  was  sleeping.  "  Will  you 
promise  me  that  your  friendship  will  ever  tend  to 
help  me  live  and.  feel  as  that  dear  mother  would 
wish?  I  believe  God  will  permit  her  to  be  near  me, 
and  I  wish  her  to  see  no  change,  no  forgetfulness  of 
her,  or  any  of  her  words.  I  would  rather  live  alone 
all  my  life  in  these  mountains,  and  never  see  any  one, 
than  grieve  her.  My  only  request  is,  that  you  will 
help  me  to  remain  true  to  her  teachings,  and  to  live 
in  a  way  that  I  know  will  be  pleasing  to  her." 

Saville  hesitated  a  moment,  for  Vera  was  asking 
more  than  she  could  understand.  According  to  his 
opinions  the  best  service  he  could  render  this  young 
8* 


!^8  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

girl  was  to  enlighten  her  mind,  and  break  the  chains 
of  superstition.  And  yet  his  theory  in  this  case 
failed  signally,  for  that  superstition  was  now  her 
only  comfort — the  rock  that  sustained  her  above  the 
dark  waves  of  sorrow.  He  might  better  stab  the 
girl  looking  up  wistfully  at  him,  than  hint  that  her 
mother  was  not  living  and  that  there  was  no  such 
place  as  heaven.  Then  the  thought  flashed  into  his 
mind  :  could  his  philosophy  make  her  more  true, 
innocent,  and  lovely  in  character,  than  had  those 
mother's  teachings,  to  which  she  was  so  pathetically 
seeking  to  be  loyal?  His  experience  as  its  teacher 
had  not  been  encouraging;  and  had  he  not  better 
leave  the  spells  of  early  years  unbroken,  in  this  in 
stance?  The  moment's  reflection  convinced  him 
that  any  other  course  would  be  most  cruel,  and  per 
haps  disastrous ;  and  therefore  he  said  solemnly, 

"  I  promise  what  you  ask  ;  and  when  I  see  what 
your  mother's  teaching  and  example  have  made 
you,  I  feel  assured  that  I  am  acting  right." 

Thus  ,again  Saville  gave  a  pledge  which  would  in 
the  future  confront  him,  and  rise  like  a  wall  across 
his  path. 

But  Vera  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  relief,  and  said, 
"  I  am  content.  I  now  have  done  just  as  mother 
would  wish,"  and  she  looked  as  fondly  at  the  grave 
as  if  it  were  an  intelligent  face. 

For  a  little  while  Saville  watched  her  wonder- 
ingly  in  silence,  and  then  asked  abruptly, 

"  You  have  never  told  me  your  name." 

"  Vera — Vera  Brown." 

"  Vera  !  it's  a  most  appropriate  name." 


THE  MOTHER   STILL  PROTECTS  HER   CHILD. 

"  It  was  appropriate  to  mother,  and  it  was  given 
to  me  by  father,  because  he  said  she  had  been 
so  true  to  him.  Oh !  how  I  wish  you  had  come 
sooner,"  she  added,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  tears. 

"  Why  do  you  wish  I  had  come  sooner  ?  " 

"  Mother  wished  to  see  you." 

"  Indeed  !  did  she  know  anything  about  me  ?  " 

"  She  knew  all  that  I  did.  I  never  hid  a  thought 
from  her,  and  never  shall,  for  I  think  God  will  let 
her  come  back  to  me  and  be  my  guardian  spirit. 
Can  you  think  I  did  not  tell  her  of  your  great  kind 
ness  when  I  went  for  the  surgeon  ?  She  wanted  to 
see  you  and  thank  you,"  and  Vera's  tears  fell  fast. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  did  venture  once  to  the  shore,  but  there  was  a 
feeling  which  I  cannot  explain  that  made  it  impos 
sible  for  me  to  ask  you  to  come,  though  I  so  much 
wished  you  would,"  said  Vera,  unconsciously  reveal 
ing  the  maidenly  reserve,  which,  though  not  under 
stood,  controlled  her.  "  I  was  in  hopes  you  might 
come  again  of  your  own  accord." 

"  I  ought  to  have  done  so ;  and  yet  I  feared  I 
might  be  an  intruder." 

"  You  have  no  reason  to  blame  yourself,  after  the 
treatment  you  received  from  father ^ind  myself.  I 
had  no  cause  to  expect  you  ;  I  only  hoped." 

"I  am  still  to  blame,"  said  Saville  ;  "for  while 
your  voice  forbade  me  to  come,  I  thought  I  saw  in 
your  eyes  the  need  of  sympathy  and  help." 

"  You  saw  what  was  true,  indeed." 

"  Besides,  you  spoke  your  father's  will,  and  not 
your  own  wish." 


I  So  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

An  expression  of  pain  flitted  across  the  girl's 
face.  For  a  moment  she  sat  still  in  deep  embarrass 
ment,  trying  to  think  how  she  should  explain  her 
father's  action,  past  and  prospective  ;  but  she  knew 
so  little  herself,  and  the  whole  subject  was  so  mys 
terious  and  sad,  that  she  was  at  a  loss  to  find  words. 

Her  truth,  however,  and  her  simplicity  served 
her  better  than  skill,  or  concealment ;  for  at  last 
she  turned  a  little  abruptly  to  Saville,  and  with  eyes 
washed  clear  by  many  tears,  said, 

"  My  father  met  with  a  misfortune  in  England. 
What  it  was  I  do  not  know ;  neither  he  nor  mother 
ever  told  me.  But  he  had  to  leave  his  home;  so  he 
brought  mother  here,  and  here  I  was  born,  and  here 
we  have  lived  ever  since:  now  you  know  all  that  I  do. 
Mother  thought  that  father's  troubles  and  his  long 
seclusion  from  the  world  had  a  bad  influence  on  his 
mind,  and  once  told  me  that  he  had  greatly  changed 
from  his  former  self.  But,  like  Cordelia,  '  I  love 
him  according  to  my  bond,'  and  with  her  could 
cry, 

'  O  my  father !     Restoration,  hang 
Thy  medicine  on  my  lips  ;  and  let  my  kiss 
Repair  those  violent  harms.' 
• 

But  from  you  I  can  only  ask  forbearance  ;  the  same 
generous  courtesy  that  you  showed  when  you  said 
to  me,  '  Charity  thinketh  no  evil/  ' 

This  statement,  so  simple,  guileless,  and  yet  en 
riched  by  an  apt  allusion  to  one  whose  character  she 
seemed  to  possess,  greatly  pleased  Saville.  What 
ever  had  been  the  act  that  clouded  the  father's  life. 


THE  MOTHER   STILL  PROTECTS  HER    CHILD,     jgl 

not  even  the  shadow  of  its  knowledge  rested  upon 
the  mind  of  the  child. 

"  Your  thoughts  are  as  crystal  as  yonder  spring," 
he  said  ;  "  and  yet  you  are  enshrouded  in  mystery. 
How  came  you  so  conversant  with  the  two  great 
books,  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  mystery  about  that ;  they  are  the 
only  books  we  have.  I  learned  to  read  in  them, 
and  they  have  been  my  companions  ever  since. 
What  I  should  have  done  without  them,  often,  I 
scarcely  know." 

"  Which  of  the  two  do  you  like  the  better?  " 

"  Oh!  the  Bible,  of  course.  But  a  year  ago  I  found 
more  pleasure  in  the  plays,  and  I  never  could  get 
weary  of  them  ;  but  when  mother  began  to  fail,  and 
my  heart  to  sink  with  dread,  the  plays  would  not 
answer.  I  wanted  something  like  the  kind  voice  of 
a  living  being  speaking  to  me,  and  so  I  have  read 
the  Bible  altogether  of  late." 

"And  does  the  Bible  seem  like  a  living  voice 
speaking  to  you  ?  " 

"Why,  surely;  the  Bible  is  God's  Word.  Some 
times  I  hear  mother's  favorite  text  so  plainly — *  Let 
not  your  heart  be  troubled  ' — that  I  look  around, 
half  expecting  to  see  some  one." 

Saville  sighed,  as  he  thought,  "  What  a  pity  her 
belief  is  not  true  !  "  but  he  said,  changing  the  sub 
ject, 

"  Will  you  let  me  ask  about  another  mystery? 
How  does  it  happen  that  your  two  great  dogs  lie 
dead  yonder  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  mystery  concerning  those  two  humble 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

friends,  which  perhaps  you  can  help  us  solve.  When 
I  found  them  dead  this  morning,  I  felt  very  badly. 
It  seemed  as  if  death  still  hovered  around  us;  and 
yet  God  preserved  us  so  wonderfully  from  greater 
harm,  that  we  have  only  reason  to  be  grateful." 
Then  she  told  him  of  the  night  alarm,  and  the 
intrusion  of  the  robber  within  the  cabin.  "  But 
after  he  entered,"  continued  Vera,  "  he  did  not 
speak,  and  scarcely  moved  until  he  turned  and 
abruptly  left  the  room ;  and  then,  judging  from  the 
sound  of  their  horses'  feet,  they  went  as  if  flying  for 
their  lives.  I  unbarred  and  unbolted  the  door,  so 
that  we  might  be  solely  in  God's  hands ;  and  He 
protected  us  as  He  did  the  prophet,  when  cast  into 
the  lion's  den." 

"  This  is  very  strange/'  mused  Saville  frown- 
ingly. 

"  Do  you  think  they  were  soldiers  ?  Their  coming 
has  troubled  father  terribly." 

"  You  say  they  came  up  the  valley  from  the  south, 
and  continued  northward." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  scarcely  think  they  were  any  of  our  men.  It 
is  more  probable  that  they  belong  to  a  class  of  dan 
gerous  wretches  that  are  becoming  very  trouble 
some.  They  pretend  to  be  Tories  or  .Royalists, 
but  usually  plunder  either  party  as  they  get  a 
chance." 

"  Oh  !  thank  God,  who  kept  us  from  the  evil." 

"  I  do  indeed  shudder  to  think  of  your  situation 
last  night,"  said  Saville,  growing  pale  at  the  thought 
of  the  young  girl's  peril.  "  But,  to  quote  from  one 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER   CHILD.    183 

of  your  favorite  books,  '  Conscience  makes  cowards 
of  us  all/  These  guilty  rascals  are  very  super 
stitious,  and  no  doubt  your  mother's  dead  face 
was  more  protection  than  an  armed  man.  But  it 
troubles  me  greatly  to  think  of  you  as  so  isolated 
and  unshielded." 

"  I  shall  continue  to  trust  in  God,"  said  Vera 
calmly. 

"  That  is  right ;  keep  up  your  faith  and  courage," 
replied  Saville  heartily ;  adding  mentally,  "  Poor 
child  !  never  was  delusion  more  harmless  and  useful 
than  in  your  case." 

The  twilight  was  now  deepening  fast;  still  it  had 
not  grown  so  dark  but  that  Vera's  father  could  be 
plainly  seen  advancing  toward  them.  When  he 
saw  Saville,  he  stopped  abruptly,  and  took  his  rifle 
down  from  his  shoulder,  with  the  instinctive  action 
of  one  who  suddenly  thinks  himself  in  the  presence 
of  danger.  But  Vera  rose  promptly,  and  taking  her 
companion's  hand,  led  him  forward,  saying, 

"  Father,  this  is  Mr.  Saville,  who  was  very  kind 
to  me  when  I  went  for  the  surgeon.'* 

The  man's  recognition  was  so  cold  and  distant  as 
to  be  forbidding,  whereupon  Vera  continued,  in  a 
tone  whose  firmness  and  decision  excited  Saville's 
surprise,  and  proved  that  she  had  unusual  force  of 
character, 

"You  remember  mother  said  that  if  he  came 
again  you  must  treat  him  with  kindness  and  courtesy; 
and  from  henceforth  mother's  will  must  be  your  law 
and  mine." 

This  reference  to  his  dead  wife  disarmed  the  man 


1 84  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

at  once.  The  known  wishes  of  a  loved  one  who  has 
died  are  often  far  more  potent  than  were  strong 
entreaties  when  urged  face  to  face  ;  and  the  hus 
band's  mind  was  not  so  warped  but  that  he  was  suf 
fering  from  the  remorseful  impression  that  he  had 
not  been  as  considerate  of  his  wife  as  both  duty  and 
his  own  affection  required,  and  he  was  in  a  mood  to 
make  amends.  It  was  only  his  strongly  rooted 
habit  of  shunning  and  repelling  strangers  that  now 
stood  between  him  and  this  the  first  visitor  who  had 
broken  in  upon  his  solitude  for  so  many  long  years. 
But  Vera  was  gladdened  by  seeing  him  master  this, 
though  evidently  by  a  great  effort,  and  give  his  hand 
to  Saville  in  something  like  a  welcome. 

"  The  wishes  of  the  dead  are  indeed  sacred,"  he 
said  ;  "  and  I  hope  that  neither  myself  nor  my  daugh 
ter  will  ever  have  cause  to  regret  our  acquaint 
ance." 

"  I  pledge  you  the  word  of  a  gentleman,  you  shall 
not,"  replied  Saville  heartily;  "and  to  the  extent 
of  my  power  as  an  officer  I  will  extend  you  protec 
tion  while  I  am  in  this  locality." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  go  away,"  said  Vera  in  a 
low  tone ;  but  there  was  more  entreaty  in  her  wist 
ful  look  than  in  her  words. 

"  The  chief  element  in  a  soldier's  life  is  uncer 
tainty.  I  must  obey  orders,  and  there  is  prospect 
of  a  very  active  campaign.  But  wherever  I  am,  I 
shall  not  forget  you,  nor  cease  to  use  what  influ 
ence  I  possess  in  your  behalf." 

Mr.  Brown  now  went  so  far  as  to  ask  Saville  into 
the  cabin,  where  Gula  had  prepared  as  good  a 


THE  MOTHER   STILL  PROTECTS  HER   CHILD.     185 

supper  as  her  slender  materials  permitted.  Saville's 
high  breeding  and  familiarity  with  the  world  en 
abled  him  to  talk  with  ease  and  grace,  while  his 
tact  and  genuine  sympathy  for  the  afflicted  house 
hold  made  his  words  like  oil  that  calmed  the  troubled 
waters  in  the  souls  of  each  of  his  listeners ;  for, 
beyond  a  few  eager  questions  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Brown,  in  regard  to  the  progress  of  the  war,  both 
father  and  daughter  were  well  content  to  listen 
rather  than  speak,  when  their  hearts  were  so  full 
of  sorrow,  and  their  lips  sealed  by  so  much  mys 
tery.  Gleams  of  hope  and  almost  exultation  came 
into  the  eyes  of  the  fear-haunted  man,  as  Saville 
told  him  of  the  forced  and  hasty  evacuation  of  Bos 
ton,  on  the  part  of  the  British  troops,  of  which 
event  vague  rumors  only  had  reached  the  mountain 
cabin. 

"  But,  after  all,"  he  asked,  "  can  the  American 
Colonies  make  any  prolonged  resistance  to  the  enor 
mous  power  of  England  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  cried  Saville  enthusiastically ;  "  we  are  on 
the  eve  of  complete  and  final  independence,  and  on 
this  new  continent  will  be  built  up  a  system  of 
life  and  government  which  will  revolutionize  the 
world." 

The  haggard  face  of  his  host  lighted  up,  as  he 
caught  something  of  the  young  man's  spirit;  but 
soon  the  shadow  fell  across  it  again,  and  he  shook 
his  head,  saying, 

"  England's  power  is  almost  without  limit,  and 
English  blood  is  slow  to  heat  and  slow  to  cool. 
Rest  assured  it  will  be  a  long  fight." 


1 86  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

"  Yes,  and  a  hard  one,"  added  Saville  thought 
fully;  "  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  severest 
part  of  the  struggle  will  be  for  the  possession  of 
this  river.  For  that  reason  I  may  be  of  service 
to  you,  as  this  region  becomes  crowded  with 
troops." 

While  Saville  and  her  father  were  dwelling  on  the 
military  and  political  aspects  of  the  situation,  Vera's 
eyes  and  thoughts  often  wandered  out  into  the 
darkness  that  concealed  the  little  mound  which  was 
still  ever  present  to  her  mind,  and  as  the  last  words 
were  uttered,  she  sighed, 

"  Perhaps  mother  has  escaped  from  ills  too  great 
for  her  to  bear." 

"  It  shall  be  my  effort  that  you  escape  from  as 
many  as  possible  also,  though  not  by  flight  into  the 
unknown,"  said  Saville,  generously  hoping  to  do 
more  than  circumstances  would  probably  permit,  to 
show  his  friendship.  ''And  now,  sir,"  he  continued, 
giving  his  hand  to  his  host,  as  he  rose  to  depart, 
"  you  cannot  fail  to  trust  me  after  to-day ;  for  I 
have  broken  bread  with  you,  and  were  I  a  wild 
Arab,  I  could  never  entertain  an  injurious  thought 
against  you  or  yours." 

This  cordiality  toward  his  host  was  somewhat  the 
result  of  policy ;  for  he  saw  that  if  he  would  be  of 
service  to  the  daughter,  he  must  disarm  the  sus 
picions  of  the  father.  Moreover,  he  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  man's  offense  had  been  of  a 
political  nature,  for  in  his  words  and  bearing  there 
was  no  suggestion  of  vulgar  crime. 

To  Vera's  hand  he  gave  a  strong  pressure,  as  he 


THE  MOTHER   STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD,     jg; 

said,  "  If  anything  I  can  say  or  do  will  cheer  you,  I 
will  soon  come  again." 

"  You  have  cheered  and  comforted  me  more  than 
I  could  have  believed  'possible,"  said  the  maiden 
gratefully ;  and  she  added,  with  the  frankness  of  a 
child,  "  I  hope  you  will  come  soon  and  often." 


188  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S'  HEART. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

BEACON  FIRES. 

O  AVILLE  was  not  slow  in  keeping  his  promise, 
O  and  became  a  frequent  guest  at  the  little  cabin 
among  the  mountains.  His  visits,  which  at  first 
were  made  largely  from  sympathy,  soon  became 
sources  of  so  much  pleasure,  that  he  was  ready  to 
avail  himself  of  any  pretext  which  gave  him  for  a 
few  hours  the  society  of  one  who  was  more  fascinating 
than  if  schooled  in  social  arts.  And  yet  such  was 
her  youth  and  simplicity,  and  so  undisguised  was  her 
wonder  as  he  described  scenes  and  life  in  New  York 
and  Europe,  that  she  seemed  to  him  only  an  intelli 
gent  child,  whom  it  was  a  delight  to  instruct.  Con 
genial  companionship  was  a  necessity  of  the  young 
man's  nature ;  and  in  Vera  he  found  so  much  deli 
cacy  and  refinement,  combined  with  such  utter  ab 
sence  of  conventionality,  and  entire  ignorance  of  the 
form  and  etiquette  of  the  times,  that  she  appeared 
to  confirm  his  Utopian  dreams  of  a  liberty  so  large 
that  the  impulses  of  nature  would  become  the  only 
laws.  But  nature,  to  Saville  and  Vera,  had  very  dif 
ferent  meanings.  To  the  one  it  was  an  existing 
order  of  things  that  he  could  not  account  for,  but  in 
which  man  was  supreme,  and  a  law  unto  himself. 


BEACON  FIRES. 


189 


To  the  other  it  was  the  creation  and  dwelling-place 
of  a  Divine,  all-powerful  Being,  who  was,  at  the  same 
time,  her  Father  and  friend.  In  the  beauty  and  purity 
of  Vera's  character  Saville  saw  the  effects  of  this 
belief,  but  he  erred  greatly  in  supposing  all  to  be  the 
result  of  earthly  causes.  The  development  of  the 
soul,  under  the  influence  of  a  Divine,  ever-present 
Spirit,  was  a  truth  concerning  which  he  had  little 
knowledge  and  no  faith. 

Of  his  own  great  trouble  and  disappointment  he 
never  spoke  to  any  one.  His  wife's  conduct  was 
more  than  a  sorrow,  and  had  become  rather  a  bitter 
shame  and  disgrace,  to  which  his  proud  spirit  could 
not  endure  the  slightest  allusion.  Not  even  to  his 
mother  had  he  mentioned  her  name  since  the  even 
ing  she  crossed  his  threshold  for  the  last  time.  It 
was  his  wish  to  forget  her  existence  ;  for  his  blood 
tingled  as  he  remembered  how  easily  she  had  duped 
him,  and  how  blindly  and  stupidly  he  had  wrecked 
his  happiness.  While,  therefore,  he  spoke  frankly 
to  Vera  of  his  mother,  and  of  his  life  abroad  and  in 
New  York,  he  maintained  the  habit  of  silence,  in 
iegard  to  his  wife,  which  was  already  fastened  upon 
him. 

Vera  had  disarmed  at  once  the  bitter  and  misan 
thropic  thoughts,  which  a  man  with  his  experience 
is  prone  to  cherish  toward  the  entire  sex.  No  moun 
tain  stream  could  be  more  transparent  than  this  child 
of  nature,  who  had  learned  none  of  art's  disguises. 
When,  from  instinct,  she  manifested  maidenly  reserve, 
the  cause  was  as  apparent  as  the  effect.  Her  perfect 
guilelessness  deepened  the  impression,  that  Saville 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

had  formed  from  the  first,  that  she  was  but  a  child  ; 
and  his  warm  and  growing  affection  was  that  of  a 
brother  for  a  younger  sister,  who  accepts  wonder- 
ingly  and  trustingly  his  superiority  in  all  things. 
And  yet  there  was  withal  a  certain  womanly  dignity 
which  often  puzzled  Saville,  and  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  indulge  in  the  innocent  caresses  which 
are  natural  between  brother  and  sister. 

As  for  the  young  girl,  she  no  more  thought  of  ana 
lyzing  her  feeling  toward  her  new-found  friend  than 
would  the  mind  of  a  famished  man  dwell  upon  the 
chemical  constituents  of  the  food  that  was  giving 
him  a  new  lease  of  life.  She  did  indeed  love  Saville, 
and  she  knew  it ;  but  her  strong  and  deepening  re 
gard  caused  no  more  unrest  than  had  the  tender  yet 
tranquil  affections  which  had  hitherto  governed  her. 
She  loved  him  like  a  sister,  and  yet  with  more 
intensity  than  that  relation  usually  awakens.  She 
loved  him  from  a  deep  and  abiding  sense  of  grati 
tude.  He  had  been  a  friend  in  the  sorest  extremity 
of  her  life,  and  had  come  as  a  deliverer  when  her 
heart  was  breaking  in  her  terrible  anguish  and  lone 
liness.  He  had  rescued  her  from  the  agony  which 
pierced  like  a  mortal  thrust,  as  she  realized  that  her 
mother  was  buried  from  her  sight  ;  and  he  had 
gently  and  tenderly  sought  to  comfort  and  divert  her 
thoughts  ever  since.  She  loved  him  for  the  same  rea 
son  that  many  others  of  her  sex  would  :  because  he 
was  lovable,  and  possessed  the  traits  that  usually  win 
esteem.  He  was  brave  ;  he  was  manly  in  his  appear 
ance  and  bearing  ;  frank  and  affable  in  his  manner  ; 
and  more  than  all,  possessed  tact,  and  the  power  of 


BEACON  FIRES  ICjl 

adapting  himself  to  the  moods  and  characters  of  his 
associates.  He  could  be  most  fascinating  when  he 
chose  to  exert  himself;  and  both  inclination  and 
every  generous  impulse  led  him  to  do  all  in  his 
power  to  cheer  the  orphan,  who  looked  to  him  as  the 
sole  friend  she  possessed.  But  perhaps  the  tenderest 
element  in  her  affection  was  the  result  of  her  mo 
ther's  knowledge  of  him,  and  her  belief  that  he  would 
prove  the  deliverer  who  would  open  a  way  of  escape 
from  an  isolation  which  she  saw,  more  and  more 
clearly,  would  be  fraught  with  danger  and  unhappi- 
ness.  He  had  shown  kindness  to  her  mother,  and 
his  gift  of  the  brandy  had  made  the  pain  and  weak 
ness  of  her  last  days  more  easily  borne.  Under  the 
circumstances,  and  with  her  nature,  how  could  she 
do  otherwise  than  love  this  stranger  knight,  who  had 
done  so  much  to  help  and  relieve  from  sore  distress? 

And  yet  there  was  a  depth  in  her  heart  in  which 
the  name  of  Saville  had  never  sounded.  If  he  had 
told  her  that  he  had  a  true  and  loving  wife  in  New 
York,  her  heart  would  have  bounded  with  joy ;  for 
in  that  wife  she  would  hope  to  find  another  friend, 
of  her  own  sex.  She  could  love  her  at  once  for  his 
sake.  If,  in  brotherly  confidence,  he  had  told  her  of 
another  maiden  that  he  loved,  no  sister  would  have 
sympathized  more  unselfishly  and  heartily.  Saville 
was  right ;  Vera  was  still  a  child. 

With  no  disposition  to  monopolize  her  as  a  dis 
covery  of  his  own,  Saville  was  perfectly  ready  to 
introduce  other  officers,  whose  characters  warranted 
the  privilege,  at  the  mountain  cabin  ;  but  it  was 
found  that  its  master  was  so  morbidly  averse,  as 


192  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

yet,  to  any  extension  of  acquaintance,  that  at  Vera's 
request,  he  waited  until  circumstances  should  break 
down  the  barriers.  Her  father's  intense  interest  in 
the  progress  of  the  war  grew  more  and  more  appar 
ent,  and  they  believed  that  if  he  could  be  induced 
to  take  an  open  part  in  the  struggle,  his  mental  dis 
order  would  pass  away.  Although,  at  times,  he 
seemed  almost  ready  to  yield  to  their  wishes,  his 
old  habit  of  shrinking  caution  and  demoralizing  fear 
would  suddenly  resume  its  sway  and  disappoint 
them. 

That  this  was  true  was  most  unfortunate ;  for,  as 
the  season  advanced,  the  whole  country  became 
pervaded  with  rumors  of  Tory  plots  and  uprisings. 
The  arrival  of  British  forces  was  daily  expected  at 
New  York,  and  it  was  said  that  the  loyalists  in  the 
city  and  along  the  shores  of  the  Hudson  were  in 
league  to  rise,  on  the  advent  of  large  bodies  of  sup 
porting  English  troops.  It  was  a  time  of  general 
distrust.  Near  neighbors  regarded  each  other  with 
suspicion,  and  often  with  good  cause.  Spies  were 
everywhere  plying  their  trade  of  drawing  from  the 
unwary,  secrets  that  might  prove  ruinous.  It  was  a 
bad  time  for  people  who  could  not  or  did  not  fully  ac 
count  for  themselves  ;  therefore,  the  man  who,  among 
the  few  that  were  aware  of  his  existence,  went  by 
the  name  of  "  Skulkin'  Brown,"  could  not  fail  to 
become  an  object  of  suspicion.  There  were  increas 
ing  rumors,  which  had  no  other  foundation  than  the 
excited  imaginations  of  people  who  feared  danger 
on  every  side,  and  only  the  fact  that  nothing  definite 
was  alleged  against  him,  prevented  a  self-appointed 


BEACON  FIRES. 


193 


delegation  from  waiting  on  him  with  notice  to  de 
camp  to  parts  unknown. 

But,  in  the  garrison  at  Fort  Montgomery,  rumor 
began  to  take  more  tangible  and  ominous  form  ;  for 
Molly,  sharing  in  all  her  mother's  prejudices  against 
the  neighbors  who  had  been  so  secluded  and  unsocial, 
began  to  give  out  many  dark  hints  of  what  she  had 
surmised  rather  than  seen  ;  and  these  intimations 
constantly  gained  in  evil  suggestion  as  they  became 
the  staple  gossip  around  the  camp  fire. 

The  artillery  company  to  which  her  husband  be 
longed  had  been  stationed  for  a  time  at  Fort  Mont 
gomery,  but  had  recently  been  recalled  to  Fort 
Constitution  ;  and  Larry  was  glad  to  get  back,  for 
after  his  experience  as  sentinel,  he  regarded  the  east 
side  of  the  river  as  the  safer  one.  He  and  his  wife 
naturally  gravitated  toward  that  class  among  the 
soldiery  who  were  as  ignorant  and  superstitious  as 
themselves  ;  and  loquacious,  rash  -  speaking  Molly 
was  not  long  in  convincing  her  associates  that  old 
Gula  was  a  "  haythen,"  and  in  league  with  the  Evil 
One,  and  that  Vera  was  her  disciple. 

These  rumors  soon  took  such  shape  as  to  become 
the  topic  of  conversation  among  the  officers,  and  thus 
Saville  heard  of  them.  Alarmed  for  the  safety  of 
Vera,  he  promptly  sought  their  origin,  and  was  not 
long  in  tracing  them  to  the  daughter  of  the  old  crone 
who  had  disgusted  him  with  her  envenomed  but 
baseless  innuendo  on  the"  afternoon  when  he  and 
Larry  first  saw  the  nymph  of  the  potato  field.  At 
first,  he  sought  to  reason  with  Molly,  and  awaken 
her  sympathies  for  the  motherless  girl.  But,  on 
9 


1 94  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

the  mention  of  Vera,  the  coarse-fibered  woman  only 
tossed  her  head,  with  something  like  a  leer  on  her 
bold,  handsome  face ;  and  Saville,  with  indignation, 
saw  that  she  gave  him  credit  for  very  different 
motives  from  those  of  commiseration  and  friendly 
regard  for  the  maiden  he  was  seeking  to  protect. 
Therefore  he  said,  with  a  sudden  anger  and  stern 
ness,  before  which  even  the  reckless  termagant 
quailed, 

"  Beware  how  you  or  your  husband  whisper 
another  lie  against  those  who  are  under  my  protec 
tion.  If  you  even  hint  anything  you  cannot  prove, 
I  will  have  you  drummed  out  of  camp." 

This,  to  Molly,  was  a  dire  threat,  which  for  a  time 
had  the  desired  effect ;  for,  in  her  estimation,  she 
could  suffer  no  greater  misfortune  than  to  be  exiled 
from  the  camp,  where  she  had  already  become  quite 
a  potentate,  with  numerous  satellites,  the  unfortunate 
Larry  being  the  most  subservient  of  all.  But  her 
spite  rankled  and  strengthened,  nevertheless  ;  Saville 
was  no  favorite  of  hers  ;  for  her  husband  had  reported 
his  significant  offer  of  his  old  breeches,  as  well  as  his 
shoes,  at  the  time  she  captured  his  quondam  man- 
of-all-work. 

Saville  was  able,  in  part,  to  allay  the  suspicions  of 
his  brother  officers,  by  his  strenuous  assertions  that 
the  Whig  cause  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  inmates 
of  the  mountain  cabin ;  but,  when  asked  to  give 
some  account  of  them,  he  could  say  but  little,  and 
so  an  evil-boding  prejudice  remained. 

But  the  rapid  events  of  a  stirring  campaign  soon 
banished  all  thought  of  possible  dangers ;  and  in  the 


BEACON  FIRES. 


195 


approach  of  legions  of  British  troops,  the  exile  sus 
pected  of  Tory  proclivities  was  forgotten. 

As  the  month  of  June  passed,  the  nearer  ap 
proached  the  time  when  all  felt  that  the  English 
men-of-war  and  transports  must  appear  upon  the 
coast.  Not  a  day  dawned  but  the  tidings  of  their 
arrival  at  New  York  was  expected  by  Colonel  James 
Clinton,  who  then  commanded  the  forts  in  the  High 
lands  ;  and  the  feverish  excitement  of  expectation 
hourly  increased  among  both  officers  and  men. 

One  lovely  evening,  about  the  last  of  June,  Saville, 
after  his  labors  upon  the  fortifications  were  over, 
pulled  his  boat  across  the  river  to  a  little  cove  near 
the  cabin.  He  had  suffered  much,  during  the  past 
year,  and  was  finding  in  the  society  of  Vera  an  in 
creasing  power  to  obliterate  the  painful  impressions 
of  the  past.  He  felt,  at  times,  like  one. consumed 
with  feverish  thirst,  and  that  her  conversation,  at 
once  so  childlike  and  intelligent,  so  natural  and  yet 
tinged  with  the  supernatural,  was  like  a  cool  moun 
tain  rill,  sweet  and  sparkling,  as  it  issued  into  the 
light  from  its  mysterious  source  in  the  heart  of  the 
hills.  He  often  wondered  at  her  ability  to  enchain 
his  thoughts,  to  awaken  questionings  in  regard 
to  matters  which  he  had  considered  settled,  and 
unconsciously  to  arouse  misgivings  concerning  his 
doubt  and  unbelief. 

Of  one  thing,  however,  he  was  certain :  her  in 
fluence  was  making  him  a  better  and  truer  man,  and 
bringing  a  strange  peace  and  hopefulness  into  his 
soul,  that  hitherto  had  been  full  of  unrest,  and  was 
at  times  embittered  by  impotent  resentment  at  his 


!^6  NEAR    TG  NATURE'S  HEART. 

destiny,  and  again  weighed  down  by  deep  despon 
dency. 

He  was  soon  on  the  crest  of  the  rocky  height 
above  the  cabin,  playing  upon  his  flute  the  air  which 
had  become  the  summons  to  trysts  that,  thus  far, 
had  not  been  tainted  by  the  thought  of  evil.  A 
clear  voice  from  the  glen  below  echoed  back  the 
words, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows," 

and,  a  moment  later,  Vera  gave  him  her  hand  in 
greeting. 

After  a  little  while  their  conversation  flagged. 
The  subtle  sympathy  between  them  had  grown  so 
deep,  that  they  did  not  need  a  constant  interchange 
of  words  to  enjoy  each  other's  society;  and,  on  this 
occasion,  the  exquisite  beauty  and  peace  of  the  land 
scape,  as  they  scanned  it  from  their  lofty  eyrie,  so 
impressed  both  that  they  were  content  to  gaze  in 
silence.  Darkening  and  lengthening  shadows  from 
the  western  mountains  stretched  far  across  the  river, 
whose  glassy  surface  had  gradually  passed  from  the 
sheen  of  silver  to  a  colder,  steely  gleam,  as  it  washed 
its  bold  shores  at  their  feet ;  but  the  heads  of  "Sugar 
Loaf"  mountain,  and  other  lofty  heights,  were  still 
crowned  with  light  and  robed  in  royal  purple.  Com 
ing  night  would  soon  uncrown  them,  even  as  death 
brings  darkness  and  obscurity  to  those  who,  but  a 
brief  time  before,  shone  pre-eminent  in  power  and 
station. 

At  last  Saville  said, 

"  Why  is  it,  Vera,  that  while  here  with  you,  the 


BEACON  FIRES.  197 

real  world,  which  is  full  of  turmoil  and  trouble,  re 
cedes,  and  I  seem  near  another  world  which  I  would 
gladly  enter;  for  even  on  its  borders  I  find  a  strange 
peace  and  quiet  joy.  The  people  I  am  thrown  with 
in  the  garrison  are  coarse,  and  their  best  idea  of  life 
is  commonplace  and  material.  Our  food  is  plain 
and  even  gross,  and  yet  it  seems  wholly  to  occupy 
the  thoughts  of  many.  How  you  live  I  cannot 
tell,  unless  the  fairies  feed  you.  Every  day  has  its 
harassing  rumors,  and  we  know  that  the  enemy 
will  strike  us  soon  ;  and  the  sooner  the  better,  for 
the  great  question  of  Liberty  can  only  be  decided 
now  by  hard  blows.  But  you  cannot  know  what  a 
relief  it  is  to  escape  from  the  dust,  heat,  and  din  of 
labor  on  the  fortifications,  and  the  oversight  of  men 
who  seem  little  better  than  beasts  of  burden,  to  a 
scene  like  this,  and  to  have  you  hover  near  me,  my 
dainty  Ariel.  Are  you  sure  you  are  not  a  spirit 
of  the  air,  an  emanation  of  this  romantic  region  and 
hour?  When  the  cold,  dark  days  come,  will  not 
you  and  your  rustic  bower  vanish  ?  If  I  come  next 
November,  and  give  our  musical  signal,  will  not  the 
sighing  of  the  chilly  wind  be  my  only  answer  ?  Are 
you  really  flesh  and  blood?" 

"  I  might  answer  with  Shylock,"  replied  Vera, 
playfully,  "  *  Have  I  not  eyes  ?  Have  I  not 
hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections,  pas 
sions?"' 

"  Still,  you  differ  vastly  from  ordinary  mortals. 
How  is  it  that  when  with  you,  such  a  sense  of  peace, 
rest,  and  deep  content  steals  into  my  heart  ?  " 

"  Another  has  said,  '  My  peace  I  give  unto  you, 


198  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

not  as  the  world  giveth  give  I  unto  you.'  It  is  that 
which  you  feel,  I  trust." 

"Who  said  that?" 

"  The  Prince  of  Peace — the  God  who  loves  us 
both.  Life  is  bringing  to  me,  as  well  as  to  yourself, 
many  sad  and  stern  realities.  I  live  as  you  do,  but 
am  fed  much  as  the  ravens  are,  not  knowing  where 
to-morrow's  supply  is  to  come  from  ;  only  sure  that 
it  will  come.  You  know  well,  Mr.  Saville,  that  there 
is  now  nothing  sportive  and  fairy-like  in  my  life,  and 
yet  deep  in  my  heart  abides  perfect  peace." 

Its  reflection  was  on  her  face,  as  he  gazed  upon  it 
long  and  intently. 

"  May  it  never  be  disturbed,"  he  said  fervently. 
"  I  enjoy,  while  here,  but  the  pale  reflection  of  what 
you  possess.  But  it's  all  a  mystery,  like  yourself. 
What's  that?" 

Far  to  the  southward  a  faint  light  illumined  the 
dusk  of  approaching  night.  While  they  looked, 
another  and  nearer  flame  sprang  into  the  sky,  and 
soon  the  highest  mountain-tops  all  along  the  river 
were  ablaze. 

"  What  do  they  mean  ?  "  asked  Vera,  in  an  awed 
whisper. 

"They  are  beacon  fires,"  said  Saville  excitedly; 
"  the  enemy  is  at  last  at  hand.  Good-by,  my  little 
wild-flower ;  I  must  be  at  my  post  instantly.  May 
the  hot  breath  of  war  never  wither  your  bloom." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Vera  sadly ;  "  but  remember,  I 
shall  be  here  in  November,  just  as  certainly  as  in 
June." 

"  While  I  live  I  will  seek  for  you,"  he  called  back, 


BEACON  FIRES.  199 

as  he  sprang  down  the  rocks  and  vanished  in  the 
darkness. 

Vera  watched  the  ominous  glare  of  the  alarm- 
fires  for  a  long  time,  and  then  sighed,  as  she 
descended  to  her  home, 

"  Alas !  war  means  death  to  many,  and,  perhaps, 
to  him,  my  only  friend.  But  not  if  prayer  can  shield 
him." 

She  found  her  father  watching  the  glare,  also,  in 
moody  silence.  Taking  his  arm,  she  stood  quietly 
by  him.  How  much  those  beacon  fires  might  pre 
sage  to  both ! 

"  They  have  come  at  last,"  he  said,  with  a  deep 
breath. 

"  Yes,  father,  no  doubt  the  English  ships  are  down 
the  river,  and  now  is  the  time  for  you  to  do  as  mother 
said — join  Mr.  Saville,  and  take  an  open  part  in  the 
struggle  for  liberty.  It  will  be  so  much  better  and 
safer." 

He  only  shook  his  head,  and  she  felt  his  arm 
tremble  beneath  her  hand. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  asked  hesitatingly,  "  we 
could  find  a  safer  place  than  this? — one  further 
away  ?  " 

"  No,  father ;  none  half  so  safe  as  this.  We  can 
not  leave  this  place,  where  mother  died,"  she  an 
swered,  so  decidedly  that  he  yielded  to  her  stronger 
will,  and  permitted  himself  to  be  led  quietly  within 
the  cabin ;  but,  in  accordance  with  his  old  habit, 
he  sat,  a  sleepless  watcher,  through  the  night, 
in  his  dark  corner,  his  eyes  moving  restlessly  at 
the  slightest  sound  without.  Vera  tried  to  watch 


2QO  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART, 

with   him,  but  her   head   soon    drooped   upon   the 
chair. 

Gula,  shading  the  light  with  her  hand,  looked  at 
her  calm  face  a  moment,  and  then  went  muttering 
to  her  loft,  "  She  doesn't  hear  no  voices  yet." 


LIBERTY  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS.  2QI 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

LIBERTY   PROCLAIMED  AMONG  THE  HIGHLANDS. 

OEVERAL  evenings  passed  before  Saville  ap- 
O  peared  again,  and  then  he  went  directly  to 
the  cabin,  for  he  had  tidings  for  both  father  and 
daughter. 

"  I  wish  you  joy,  Mr.  Brown,"  he  cried,  as  they 
went  out  to  meet  him.  "  You  are  no  longer  under 
British  law.  This  is  a  free  country."  And  in  rapid 
sentences  he  told  them  of  the  formal  declaration  of 
independence  on  the  part  of  Congress,  and  of  its 
joyous  and  hearty  ratification  by  the  people,  as  far 
as  they  had  been  heard  from. 

His  words  greatly  excited  both  his  listeners,  and* 
a  sudden  gleam  of  exultation  appeared  upon  the 
man's  haggard  face.  Saville  saw  his  vantage,  and 
added  eagerly, 

"  I  have  been  selected  to  read  this  solemn  declara 
tion  to-morrow,  a*t  evening  parade,  before  all  the 
troops ;  and  I  have  come  to  ask  you  and  Vera  to 
be  present.  I  will  put  you  under  the  charge  of  our 
surgeon,  whom  Vera  knows,  and  will  guarantee  your 
safety.  Indeed,  your  safety  largely  depends  upon 
your  coming;  for  if  you  are  known  to  be  present 
and  approving  upon  such  an  occasion,  it  will  disarm 
9* 


2Q2  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

suspicion,  and  all  will  recognize  that  you  are  on  our 
side." 

"  We  will  come,"  said  Vera  decisively ;  for  she 
felt  that  it  might  be  the  turning-point  in  their  lives. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  child ;  I  cannot,"  cried  her  father 
tremblingly. 

"  Yes,  father ;  you  can  and  will,"  said  Vera  calm 
ly.  "  I  shall  go,  and  you  will  not  permit  me  to  go 
alone." 

Urged  by  his  strong  desire  to  verify  the  tidings  he 
had  heard  with  his  own  ears,  and  Vera's  gentle  co 
ercion,  he  yielded.  It  was  arranged  that  they  should 
come  the  following  day  to  a  point,  near  the  fort, 
where  they  would  find  Saville,  who  promised  to 
give  them  a  position  which,  while  not  conspicuous, 
would  enable  them  to  hear  those  pregnant  words 
which  had  created  a  new  and  independent  nation. 

As  may  well  be  imagined,  Vera's  excitement  was 
scarcely  less  than  that  of  her  father,  though  more 
controlled.  She  was,  at  last,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  world  and  its  inhabitants,  concerning  which  she 
had  thought  and  dreamed  so  much.  She  was  to  be 
present  on  an  occasion  of  pomp  and  military  display, 
and  the  one  she  loved  and  honored  as  the  most 
excellent  man  existing,  was  to  be  the  central  figure. 
To  her,  he  embodied  the  Declaration  which  he  was 
to  read,  and  was  a  synonym  for  liberty.  In  her 
fancy,  she  compared  him  to  the  youthful  David  of 
Bible  history,  and  the  loftiest  Shakspearian  heroes ; 
and  her  heart  overflowed  in  gratitude  to  God  that 
He  had  raised  up  such  a  friend  and  deliverer  for 
her  and  her  father.  Through  his  kind  offices,  she 


LIBERTY  IN   THE  HIGHLANDS.  203 

already,  in  hope,  saw  her  father  restored  to  sound 
reason  and  useful  station,  and  both  gaining  a  re 
spected  and  recognized  place  in  society.  To-morrow 
would  be  the  auspicious  day  which  would  inaugurate 
the  happy  change. 

"  Mother  was  a  true  prophetess,"  she  said  to  her 
self  a  hundred  times.  "  He  is  the  true  friend  whom 
God  has  raised  up  to  rescue  us." 

Temptation  was  indeed  coming  to  Vera  as  an 
angel  of  light,  but  as  yet  no  threatening  cloud  ap 
peared  above  the  bright  horizon.  As  the  thunder- 
gusts  lurked  behind  her  native  mountains,  to  break 
at  last  as  from  a  clear  sky,  so  might  the  truth  come 
to  her.  But  now,  with  the  unquenched  confidence 
of  a  child,  she  exulted  over  the  vista  of  hope  and 
promise  opening  before  her,  and  with  an  affection 
and  admiration  which  was  essentially  that  of  a  sister 
for  a  strong  and  gallant  brother,  she  permitted 
Saville  to  become  to  her  the  center  of  all  earthly 
expectation. 

She  was  almost  as  sleepless  that  night  as  her 
father,  and  the  next  day,  an  hour  before  the  ap 
pointed  time  for  starting,  was  dressed  in  all  the 
simple  finery  she  possessed.  And  simple  indeed  it 
was  ;  for  neither  from  her  mother  nor  her  foster  pa 
rent,  nature,  had  she  acquired  any  artificial  or  gaudy 
tastes. 

Moccasins  incased  her  feet.  Her  dark-blue  gown 
was  made  after  the  fashion  in  vogue  when  her 
mother  was  a  maiden  in  her  English  home,  and 
was  fastened  at  her  throat  by  a  quaint  and  ancient 
brooch.  But  her  chief  ornament  was  the  wealth 


204  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

of  golden  hair  that  flowed,  unconfined,  far  down 
her  shoulders.  Upon  her  head,  as  jauntily  as  when 
Saville  first  saw  it,  sat  the  plumage  of  the  snowy 
heron. 

Saville  wondered  at  her  beauty,  as  she  appeared, 
glowing  with  exercise  and  excitement,  at  the  rendez 
vous.  Her  father  also  had  seemingly  nerved  him 
self  up  to  the  emergency,  and  maintained  the  stately 
bearing  of  a  gentleman  of  a  former  generation ; 
while  Vera,  to  a  very  great  degree,  had  removed  from 
his  person  and  dress  the  habitual  appearance  of  dis 
order. 

Saville  led  them  at  once  to  his  quarters,  and 
placed  before  them  such  refreshments  as  could  be 
obtained  in  a  mountain  garrison.  According  to 
agreement,  the  bluff  but  kindly  surgeon  soon  ap 
peared,  and  did  his  best  to  entertain  the  visitors. 
Saville  would  have  introduced  a  few  other  officers, 
but  Mr.  Brown  had  stipulated  that  he  should  make 
the  acquaintance  of  no  other  person  than  the  sur 
geon.  To  his  disordered  fancy,  danger  menaced 
from  every  one  who  obtained  knowledge  of  him. 
Saville  and  Vera  readily  acquiesced,  feeling  that  his 
habit  of  reserve  and  morbid  fear  could  only  be 
broken  gradually. 

But  Vera  was  more  than  content,  and  would  have 
been  in  a  state  of  childlike  wonder  and  delight,  had 
she  been  left  solely  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  new  and 
strange  scenes  witnessed  now  for  the  first  time.  But 
with  Saville,  and  the  surgeon  who  was  kind  to  her 
mother,  at  her  side,  to  explain  and  protect,  she  felt 
that  her  cup  was  full  to  overflowing. 


LIBERTY  IN   THE  HIGHLANDS.  205 

Saville  noted  with  pleasure  her  simple  grace  and 
dignity  of  manner.  She  was  his  protdgte,  and  he  had 
felt  some  anxiety  as  to  her  appearance  and  bearing, . 
and  also  lest  she  should  be  painfully  embairassed, 
or  so  odd  in  dress  and  manner  as  to  attract  unfavor 
able  notice.  But  her  bearing  was  that  of  a  well- 
bred  but  diffident  child.  Her  modest  deference  to 
the  surgeon's  words  both  charmed,  and  disarmed 
him  of  the  prejudice  which  her  father's  life  and  repu 
tation  had  created  ;  and  her  keen  and  intelligent 
interest  in  all  she  saw,  and  the  innocent  wonder  that 
often  found  expression  upon  her  mobile  features, 
amply  repaid  Saville  for  his  effort  to  secure,  her 
presence.  There  was,  withal,  a  trace  of  quaint 
Shakspearian  stateliness  in  her  words  and  manner, 
which,  to  one  of  his  tastes,  was  far  more  pleasing 
than  the  artificial  graces  of  the  prevailing  mode. 

As  the  hour  approached  for  evening  parade  and 
the  ceremonies  attendant  upon  so  important  an 
occasion,  Saville  conducted  them  to  a  commanding 
yet  sheltered  position  beneath  some  overshadow 
ing  trees,  from  which  they  could  see  and  hear  all, 
and  still  not  be  full  in  the  public  eye.  As  Vera 
noticed  this,  and  saw  how  relieved  her  father  was 
that  he  could  shrink  partially  out  of  sight,  she  said, 

"  Do  you  read  one's  thoughts,  that  your  courtesy 
is  so  kind  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  dull  indeed,"  he  replied,  "  if  I  could 
not  read  your  thoughts,  and  most  unkind  not  to 
please  one  so  easily  pleased.  Good-by,  now,  for 
a  time.  I  must  go  and  prepare  for  the  part  that  I 
am  to  take." 


206  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  I  am  proud  that  it  is  the  chief  part,"  she  said 
exultantly. 

Saville's  enthusiasm  over  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence  had  scarcely  known  bounds,  and  so  at 
tracted  the  attention  of  his  brother  officers,  that 
Colonel  James  Clinton,  the  commanding  officer,  said 
laughingly, 

"  You  shall  read  it  at  evening  parade,  for,  judging 
from  the  feeling  you  show,  you  can  do  the  docu 
ment  more  justice  than  any  of  us." 

"  I  shall  esteem  it  the  greatest  honor  of  my  life, 
if  I  may,"  responded  Saville  eagerly  ;  "  for  I  see  in 
this  instrument  the  inauguration  of  a  totally  new 
condition  of  society.  I  think  its  writer  was  inspired, 
and  that  it  contains  more  than  he  realized.  He 
wrought  better  than  he  knew.  Take  the  words, 
'  all  men  are  created  equal,  and  are  endowed  with 
certain  inherent  and  inalienable  rights  ;  that  among 
these  are  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness.' 
Push  these  pregnant  sentences  to  their  logical  con 
clusion,  and  they  level  all  arbitrary  distinctions,  and 
break  all  chains,  spiritual  and  temporal.  They  will 
make  all  men  sovereigns,  instead  of  vassals  and 
slaves  of  tyranny,  existing  on  earth  or  believed  to 
exist  somewhere  else." 

"  Hold  on,  Saville,"  cried  Clinton  •  "  you  haven't 
quoted  correctly.  The  document  reads,  '  endowed 
by  their  Creator  with  certain  inherent  and  inalien 
able  rights.'  A  Creator  that  can  endow,  can  also 
impose  restrictions." 

"  I  admit,"  Saville  had  replied,  "  that  in  the  letter 
of  its  phraseology,  the  instrument  accords  with  the 


LIBERTY  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS. 


207 


waning  superstitions  of  the  times  ;  but,  as  I  said; 
the  writer  wrought  better  than  he  knew,  and  placed 
there  the  germs  of  a  golden  age,  wherein  man  will 
be  supreme,  reason  holding  the  scepter.  Suppose 
we  break  the  bonds  of  King  George,  how  can  we 
possess  liberty  and  pursue  happiness,  if  we  are  tram 
meled  on  every  side  by  what  some  ancient  bigots 
imagined  was  the  will  of  an  obscure  Hebrew  Divinity  * 
If  we  must  be  governed  by  the  myths  of  remote 
antiquity,  in  the  name  of  reason,  let  us  go  to  Greece  ; 
for  there,  at  least,  we  shall  find  some  breadth  and 
beauty." 

"  If  I  saw  in  this  document  what  you  foreshadow, 
I'd  burn  it  instead  of  having  it  read,"  said  Clinton, 
with  an  oath.  "  I  see  in  it  only  independence  of  King 
George,  and  allegiance  to  the  God  of  my  fathers." 

"  The  acorn  grows  slowly,"  Saville  answered  • 
"  but  when  it  grows,  the  shell  decays  and  drops 
away." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Clinton  ;  "  you  shall  read  it, 
and  every  man  can  interpret  it  for  himself." 

And  so  it  had  been  arranged.  Apart  from  Saville's 
enthusiasm,  the  selection  would  prove  good  in  other 
respects,  for  he  had  a  fine  presence,  and  a  strong, 
sonorous  voice. 

As  the  sun  sank  behind  the  western  highlands, 
the  tap  of  the  drum  summoned  the  garrison  to  their 
respective  positions,  and  filled  all  minds  with  eager 
expectancy.  Vera  heard  the  confused  and  hurrying 
tramp  of  feet,  and  rapid  commands  from  officers, 
which,  though  unintelligible  to  her,  soon  crystallized 
the  human  atoms  into  compact  masses.  In  every 


208  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

part  of  the  fort  and  island  that  was  visible,  bodies 
of  men  appeared  with  bayonets  gleaming  above  their 
heads.  Then,  with  a  precision  and  order  which  only 
military  discipline  can  produce,  each  company  was 
put  in  motion  by  a  single  word,  as  if  all  were  swayed 
by  one  will.  The  rhythmical  tread  of  many  feet 
echoed  and  re-echoed  on  every  side,  and  soon  the 
open,  level  space  before  her  began  to  fill  with  angular 
masses  of  men.  At  first,  they  seemed  to  her  un 
taught  eyes  like  human  blocks  placed  here  and  there 
by  chance ;  but,  as  company  and  battalion  came 
marching  forward  to  the  music  of  fife  and  drum  till 
they  seemed  to  form  an  innumerable  host,  she  saw 
the  angular  human  masses  take,  as  it  were  by  magic, 
the  outline  of  three  sides  of  a  hollow  square.  The 
martial  sounds  caused  every  nerve  to  tingle,  and 
looking  at  her  father,  she  saw,  with  a  thrill  of  hope, 
that  he  was  losing  his  shrinking  manner,  and  that 
his  eyes  were  kindling  with  a  grand  excitement  akin 
to  her  own. 

In  very  brief  time  the  lines  were  dressed,  and  the 
men  standing  like  serried  ranks  of  statues.  A  word 
of  command  rang  out,  which  was  followed  by  a  sub 
dued  crash,  as  every  firelock  came  simultaneously 
to  the  ground,  and  the  ranks  became  statuesque  in 
another  attitude.  She  also  saw  that  in  the  mean 
time  every  cannon  had  been  manned  along  the  ex 
tensive  line  of  breastworks.  A  little  in  the  rear  of 
the  nearest  stood  a  person  whose  strange  costume 
did  not  prevent  Vera  from  recognizing  as  the  young 
Irish  girl  whom  she  had  occasionally  met  in  her 
mountain  excursions.  It  was  no  other  than  the 


LIBERTY  IN   THE  HIGHLANDS. 


20$ 


redoubtable  Molly  O'Flarharty,  dressed  in  a  blue 
petticoat,  the  scarlet  coat  of  an  artilleryman,  and  a 
cocked  hat  worn  rakishly  on  one  side.  She  also 
saw,  from  Molly's  steady  gaze,  that  she  knew  both 
herself  and  her  father;  but,  while  the  woman's  bold 
stare  gave  her  for  a  moment  an  uncomfortable  im 
pression,  she  soon  forgot  her  existence  in  the  inter 
esting  scenes  in  which  she  was  a  participant. 

When  all  were  in  position,  and  silence  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  preceding  din  and  tramp  of  feet, 
Colonel  Clinton,  with  his  staff  officers,  issued  from 
the  shadow  of  some  large  tents,  and  grouped  them 
selves  on  the  fourth  and  open  side  of  the  square,  the 
commander  being  a  little  in  advance  of  the  others. 
To  Vera,  as  they  stood  there  in  as  brilliant  uniforms 
as  the  times  and  their  meagre  purses  permitted,  they 
seemed  heroes  of  the  first  magnitude. 

But  when  Saville's  tall  form  appeared,  and  he  ad 
vanced  and  saluted  Colonel  Clinton  with  the  erectness 
and  steadiness  of  a  trained  soldier,  combined  with 
the  ease  and  grace  of  one  who  had  seen  court  life 
abroad,  tears  of  exultant  pride  suffused  her  eyes,  and 
she  murmured,  "  He  towers  above  them  all." 

"  See  what  a  grace  is  seated  on  this  brow ; 
Hyperion's  curls  ;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command ; 
A  combination,  and  a  form,  indeed, 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
And  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man." 

A  deep  hush  fell  upon  the  garrison,  broken  only 
by  the  rustle  of  the  parchment  as  it  was  unrolled. 


210  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Even  the  most  stolid  of  the  soldiery  could  be  seen 
craning  their  necks  that  they  might  hear  more  dis 
tinctly  the  words  that  were  so  fraught  with  destiny 
to  them  and  their  children.  But  there  was  no  need 
of  such  effort;  for  Saville's  powerful  voice,  like  a 
trumpet,  sent  every  syllable  even  to  the  artillery 
men  standing  at  the  distant  guns. 

When  he  came  to  the  words,  "We  hold  these 
truths  to  be  self-evident :  that  all  men  are  created 
equal!'  he  gave  to  them  such  emphasis  and  meaning, 
that  they  thrilled  all  present,  and  touched  the  deep 
chord  of  human  brotherhood  in  every  heart.  From 
the  common  soldiery,  who  felt  their  humble  station, 
but  believed  that  this  truth  made  them  peers  of  all 
mankind,  there  went  up  an  irrepressible  shout,  whose 
echoes  were  long  in  dying  away.  Saville  smiled,  as 
he  thought,  "  Did  I  not  say  that  the  germ  of  perfect 
liberty  and  equality  is  in  these  words  ?  ay,  and  the 
instinct  of  the  masses  will  discover  it,  in  spite  of  their 
rulers.  Even  the  mere  announcement  causes  these 
poor  fellows  to  break  the  iron  bands  of  military 
restraint." 

More  than  once  the  reader  was  interrupted  by 
outbursts  of  applause,  or  by  groans  and  hisses 
given  with  emphasis  by  his  recent  subjects  for  King 
George,  who,  in  this  memorable  document,  was  to 
hear  the  unvarnished  truth  in  a  form  that  would 
make  his  ears  tingle. 

It  was  indeed  a  remarkable  occasion  and  scene. 
In  the  words  themselves,  in  the  feelings  of  those 
who  then  for  the  first  time  heard  them,  and  espe 
cially  in  view  of  the  results,  the  element  of  sublimity 


LIBERTY  7Ar    THE  HIGHLANDS.  2II 

was  pre-eminent.  It  was  befitting  that  the  sur 
roundings  should  be  sublime ;  that  there  should  rise 
on  every  side  solemn  mountains,  some  in  shadow, 
some  crowned  with  light  and  glory,  suggestive  of 
the  checkered  fortunes  of  those  who  must  fight  long 
years  for  the  liberty  they  were  now  claiming.  But 
when  a  strong  current  of  popular  feeling  and  opinion 
sets  steadily  in  one  direction,  it  will  break  through 
all  barriers,  and  overcome  all  obstacles,  even  as  the 
broad  river  at  their  feet  had  cleft  its  way  through 
miles  of  granite  hills. 

As  the  last  words  fell  from  the  reader's  lips — 
"  And  for  the  support  of  this  declaration  we  mutually 
pledge  to  each  other  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our 
sacred  honor," — a  frenzy  of  enthusiasm  seized  upon 
all.  The  lines  were  partially  broken,  for  the  citizen 
soldiery  were  too  recently  from  their  democratic 
homes  to  be  held  in  check,  had  restraint  been  at 
tempted.  The  three-cornered  continental  hats  were 
whirled  high  in  air,  and  the  prolonged  and  deafening 
shouts  were  but  partially  drowned  by  the  cannon 
that,  from  every  embrasure,  thundered  repeated 
salvos.  The  guns  of  Forts  Clinton  and  Montgomery 
were  soon  answering  like  mighty  echoes. 

Though  the  reader  had  acquitted  himself  admi 
rably,  he  was  content  to  be  forgotten  in  the  wild 
excitement  over  what  he  had  read,  and  escaped 
almost  unnoticed  to  Vera's  side.  As  he  saw  the 
deep  intensity  of  feeling  expressed  in  her  dark  blue 
eyes  and  earnest  face,  the  thought  occurred  to  him, 
"  She  is  not  a  child  ;  she  is  capable  of  becoming,  if 
she  is  not  already,  a  heroic  woman." 


212  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

The  father,  also,  was  so  changed  that  he  scarcely 
knew  him.  He  looked,  not  only  like  one  who  could 
fight  for  liberty,  but  lead  others  in  the  conflict. 
Not  from  him,  however,  but  from  Vera,  came  the 
request  that  they  might  now  depart. 

"  I  am  overpowered,"  she  said  ;  "  perhaps  if  I  had 
had  former  glimpses  of  the  strange  and  unknown 
world,  I  would  not  feel  so.  But  I  am  now  over 
whelmed,  as  I  imagine  one  of  the  old  prophets  must 
have  been  just  after  he  had  seen  a  vision." 

"  The  excitement  has  been  too  much  for  you," 
said  Saville  gently. 

"  Yes,  for  the  moment ;  but  I  have  seen  that  which 
I  can  think  over  and  dream  about  for  months.  I  am 
very  grateful  to  you  for  this  wonderful  experience ; 
but  let  us  go  now,  and  when  you  come  again  I  shall 
have  many  questions  to  ask.  Mother  was  right 
— you  are  the  friend  that  she  had  a  presentiment 
you  would  become.  Oh,  that  she  were  with  us  to 
day!" 

"  Your  mother  seems  ever  present  to  your  mind," 
said  Saville,  in  a  low  tone,  as  they  walked  to  the 
boat. 

"Dear  mother!"  sighed  Vera,  in  a  tone 'that 
trembled  with  tenderness  ;  "  perhaps  she  is  nearer  to 
me  than  you,  upon  whose  arm  I  lean." 

It  caused  Saville  a  sudden  and  sharp  pang  to  re 
member,  as  he  believed,  that  her  mother  had  van 
ished  into  nothingness,  and  had  no  longer  any 
existence. 

On  parting  at  the  landing,  Saville  took  Vera's 
hand  in  both  his,  and  said, 


LIBERTY  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS.  213 

"  I  have  learned  to  respect  you  very  much  to-day, 
my  little  friend.  I  think  you  are  ceasing  to  be  a 
child,  and  are  becoming  a  woman." 

"  I  would  rather  be  a  child  as  long  as  I  can,"  said 
Vera  humbly,  "  for  I  have  so  much  to  learn." 

Her  father  wrung  the  young  man's  hand,  and 
said, 

"  I  shall  be  with  you  in  this  struggle  actively,  if 
not  openly." 

"  Openly,  my  friend,  openly,  and  all  will  be  well." 
cried  Saville,  as  they  pushed  from  the  shore. 

If  he  had  taken  that  advice,  it  might  have  saved 
him  and  his  daughter  years  of  suffering. 


214  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON. 

EARLY  in  the  season — indeed,  as  soon  as  it  be 
came  probable  that  his  native  city,  New  York, 
would  be  the  next  point  of  attack — Saville  had  com 
menced  to  chafe  at  the  orders  that  kept  him  so  far 
from  the  prospective  scene  of  action,  and  made  him 
little  more  than  an  overseer  of  the  soldier  laborers, 
working  up^i  fortifications.  When,  at  last,  the 
beacon  fires  and  subsequent  intelligence  announced 
that  the  enemy  were  in  the  harbor,  and  the  city  was 
liable  to  assault  at  any  moment,  he  could  scarcely 
restrain  his  impatience,  and  at  once  made  application 
to  be  transferred  to  the  main  army.  He  was  now 
daily  hoping  to  receive  the  orders  he  desired.  In  the 
uncertainty,  he  had  decided  to  say  nothing  to  Vera, 
since,  if  the  request  were  denied,  she  would  be  saved 
from  the  pain  of  fearing  his  departure ;  and,  should 
it  be  granted,  she  would  be  preserved  from  days  of 
anxious  anticipation. 

But  in  the  mean  time  events  occurred  which  inten 
sified  his  desire  to  visit  the  city,  and  he  began  to  feel 
that  the  duty  he  owed  his  mother  was  conflicting 
most  painfully  with  that  of  a  soldier.  If  he  could 


ECHOES  ALONG   THE  HUDSON. 

only  remove  her  to  a  place  of  safety,  he  would  even 
be  content  to  return  to  the  mountain  fort  where 
there  was  no  immediate  prospect  of  active  service. 
This  anxiety  kept  him  on  the  alert  for  every  rumor 
from  the  city,  and  in  that  feverish  and  portentous 
time  there  were  rumors  innumerable. 

But  on  the  I3th  of  July,  while  directing  a  work 
ing  party  in  the  construction  of  a  bastion,  he  noticed 
two  sloops  coming  up  the  river  at  an  unusual  speed. 
The  wind  was  blowing  very  strongly  from  the  south 
east,  and  yet  they  carried  so  much  sail  as  to  involve 
danger,  and  at  times  would  careen  over  to  the 
water's  edge.  Saville  was  something  of  a  sailor, 
and  he  knew  that  none  of  the  easy-going  skippers 
of  the  river  craft  would  carry  all  the  canvas  they 
could  raise,  in  such  a  gale,  unless  there  was  urgent 
reason. 

Scanning  them  through  his  glass,  he  was  soon 
convinced  that  there  was  reason,  and  that  events  of 
great  importance  had  occurred  below.  He  was  con 
firmed  in  this  surmise  when  the  vessels,  instead  of 
standing  on  past  the  fort,  approached  the  shore, 
and  came  up  before  the  wind.  Even  while  casting 
anchor  two  boats  shoved  off,  and  a  few  moments 
later  the  captains  of  the  sloops  were  clambering  up 
the  rocky  bank  and  asking  for  an  audience  with  Col 
onel  Clinton.  Saville  led  them  at  once  to  the  com 
mandant's  tent,  and  the  bluff  skippers,  almost  in  a 
breath,  said  : 

"  Colonel  Clinton,  look  well  to  your  guns.  The 
Britishers  attacked  the  city  yesterday  afternoon, 
and  some  of  their  largest  ships  were  a-standin* 


2l6  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

straight  up  the  river  when  night  closed  in.  If  they 
keep  on  they'll  be  here  afore  long." 

Then  followed  several  hurried  questions  and  an 
swers.  Clinton  was  a  prompt  man  and  a  brave  sol 
dier,  and  though  his  garrison  and  works  were  ill  able 
to  cope  with  English  ships  of  the  line,  he  had  no 
other  thought  save  that  of  resistance  to  the  last. 

"  Make  all  sail,"  he  said  to  the  captains,  "  for  New 
Windsor,  where  you  will  find  my  brother,  the  gen 
eral.  Tell  him  what  you  have  told  me.  Ask  him 
to  order  out  the  militia  at  once,  and  reinforce  me  at 
the  quickest  possible  moment." 

The  captains  needed  no  urging,  and  scrambled 
aboard  their  vessels,  which  were  soon  lying  upon 
their  sides  again,  in  imminent  danger,  as  every  inch 
of  canvas  swelled  with  the  freshening  gale.  But, 
even  in  advance  of  their  swift  progress,  and  in  accord 
ance  with  a  preconcerted  signal,  Colonel  Clinton 
sent  the  echoes  of  a  heavy  gun  booming  up  the 
river,  warning  his  brother,  the  warrior-governor, 
that  the  guardians  of  the  Highlands  must  bestir 
themselves  at  once. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Saville,"  he  said  to  the  anxious-vis- 
aged  young  officer ;  "  but  there  is  no  use  in  your 
thinking  of  getting  away  now.  The  garrison  is 
ridiculously  weak  as  it  is.  Out  with  every  man  who 
can  handle  a  pick  or  spade.  We  must  fight  with 
these  while  the  red-coats  give  us  a  chance."  And, 
having  put  everybody  in  motion  at  Fort  Constitu 
tion,  he  hastened  down  to  Forts  Montgomery  and 
Clinton,  to  push  forward  the  work  there  also,  and 
arrange  for  signals,  should  the  enemy's  ships  appear. 


ECHOES   ALONG    THE  HUDSON. 

Saville,  as  a  good  soldier  often  must  do,  ignored 
all  personal  interests  and  affections,  and,  to  his  ut 
most,  seconded  the  endeavors  of  his  commander. 
In  order  to  animate  the  men,  he  even  laid  hold  of 
the  tools  himself,  in  emergencies  that  required 
unusual  effort ;  and  the  ramparts  seemed  visibly  to 
grow  under  the  eager  labors  of  officers  and  men. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  General  George  Clinton's 
barge,  filled  with  men,  was  descried  coming  down 
the  river,  and  the  belligerent  governor  was  soon 
concerting  measures  of  defense  with  his  brother, 
who,  in  the  mean  time,  had  returned.  Having  in 
formed  Colonel  Clinton  of  the  important  steps  he 
had  taken,  and  of  the  various  regiments  that  would 
speedily  be  on  the  march  to  reinforce  the  posts, 
he  said, 

"  I  shall  make  my  headquarters  at  Fort  Mont 
gomery,  as  that  is  nearest  the  enemy.  I  want  to 
take  down  with  me  one  or  two  engineer  offers,  to 
help  push  forward  the  lines." 

"  Yonder  is  a  man  who  is  not  afraid  of  work," 
said  the  colonel ;  and  Saville  was  instructed  to 
accompany  the  governor  at  once,  and  told  that  his 
baggage  would  be  sent  after  him. 

The  day  passed,  and  brought  no  enemy  ;  but  the 
feverish  excitement  and  expectancy  were  not  per 
mitted  to  die  out  ;  for,  as  soon  as  darkness  closed, 
the  hill-tops  far  to  the  south  began  to  blaze,  and  the 
Dunderberg,  Bear  Mountain,  Sugar  Loaf,  Cro'  Nest, 
and  Butler  Hill  speedily  assumed  their  crowns  of 
flame. 

From  the  rocky  height  above  the  cabin,  Vera  and 
10 


2i8  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

her  father  watched  the  ominous  glare,  for  a  long 
time,  with  deep  anxiety.  However  little  she  might 
know  of  its  cause,  one  thing  was  certain — it  por 
tended  danger  to  her  only  friend. 

On  her  was  imposed  already  the  most  painful 
experience  of  war — woman's  helpless  waiting  and 
watching  for  those  they  love. 

Not  many  hours  later,  swift  riders  brought  tidings 
to  the  fort  that  the  admiral,  Lord  Howe,  had  come 
to  co-operate  with  General  Howe,  his  brother,  and 
that  the  active  campaign  would  no  doubt  commence 
at  once. 

On  the  following  day  came  a  letter  from  Wash 
ington,  urging  General  Clinton  to  do  what  had 
already  been  accomplished,  for  the  energetic  gov 
ernor  had  stirred  up  the  whole  country.  '  In  the 
evening  the  notes  of  the  drum  and  fife  were  heard 
along  the  river  road,  and  three  hundred  of  the  hard}- 
Ulster*County  militia  marched  into  the  fort. 

During  the  night,  Vera  saw  many  lights  on  the 
mountain-side,  to  the  west ;  they  were  the  camp 
fires  of  five  hundred  men,  who  arrived  in  the  fort 
early  the  next  morning,  and,  after  a  brief  respite,  for 
rest  and  refreshment,  all  were  at  work  upon  the 
fortifications,  every  man  acting,  in  the  grand  excite 
ment  of  the  moment,  as  if  all  depended  on  himself. 

For  two  or  three  days,  Saville's  labors  were  in 
cessant,  and  he  had  scarcely  time  to  obtain  neces 
sary  rest.  But,  as  matters  quieted  down  somewhat, 
and  the  English  ships  remained  quietly  at  anchor  in 
Haverstraw  Bay,  he  found  an  opportunity  to  slip 
across  the  river,  on  a  visit  to  the  mountain  cabin. 


ECHOES  ALONG   THE  HUDSON.  219 

Vera  was  overjoyed  to  see  him  again ;  for,  from 
her  eyries,  even  her  unpracticed  eyes  had  descried 
preparations  for  immediate  conflict :  while  her  father 
was  tremblingly  eager  to  obtain  the  latest  tidings. 

"I  am  out  with  my  rifle,"  he  said,  "  on  the  south 
ern  hills,  as  long  as  I  can  see ;  and  you  have  one 
vigilant  scout  in  your  service,  if  he  is  unknown." 

"  Let.  me  report  your  services  to  the  general," 
said  Saville;  "  it*  will  be  so  much  better  for  you 
both,  if  your  position  is  known." 

"  Not  yet,  not  just  yet,"  said  the  man  nervously. 
14 1  am  not  equal  to  it  yet :  you  must  give  me  time." 

And  so  the  fatal  delay  to  take  a  recognized  part 
in  the  war  continued. 

Saville's  visit  was  necessarily  brief,  for  he  could 
not  long  be  absent  from  his  post.  In  parting,  he 
said, 

"  Good-by,  once  more,  my  little  sister ;  I  will  see, 
you  again  soon  if  I  can,  but  in  these  times  we  do 
not  know  what  an  hour  will  bring  forth.  If  we 
should  not  meet  in  a  long  while,  you  must  riot  grieve 
too  much." 

"  I  should  not  sorrow,"  said  Vera  tearfully,  "  as 
others  who  have  no  hope ;  for  I  believe  in  anothei 
world,  and  a  better  life  than  this,  where  we  shall 
not  be  disturbed  by  these  rude  alarms ;  but  grieve  I 
would — and  how  deeply,  you  can  never  know.  Am 
I  so  rich  in  friends  that  I  need  not  grieve  ?  " 

"  How  will  it  be  when  you  come  to  have  many?" 
he  asked,  half  playfully. 

Looking  full  into  his  eyes,  without  the  faintest 
)lush  tinging  her  pale  cheeks,  she  said  earnestly, 


22O  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

"  If  that  time  ever  comes,  you  will  still  be  first." 

They  accompanied  him  to  his  boat,  for  every  mo 
ment  with  him  was  precious.  As  he  pushed  away 
the  father  said, 

*  I  shall  be  watching  on  the  Dunderberg  to-mor 
row" 

The  presence  of  English  ships  so  high  up  in  the 
waters  of  the  Hudson,  created  intense  excitement 
along  its  shores,  among  both  Whigs  and  Tories; 
nor  was  the  general  ferment  diminished  by  the  fact 
that  the  enemy's  boats  were  out  daily,  taking  sound 
ings  far  up  toward  the  Highlands.  Everything  in 
dicated  that  they  were  preparing  to  take  possession 
of  the  river. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  Saville's 
visit,  signals  were  seen  along  the  mountain-sides, 
which  indicated  that  the  enemy  were  approaching. 
The  drums  beat  to  arms,  and  all  were  ordered  to 
their  posts.  The  guns  were  manned,  and  the  matches 
ready  for  lighting. 

Before  very  long,  one  of  the  tenders  of  the  British 
ships  was  seen  beating  up  against  a  stiff  northern 
breeze,  which  would  enable  her  to  retire  rapidly  in 
case  of  danger.  But  the  occupants  of  the  fort  sup 
posed  that  the  men-of-war  were  following,  and  pre 
pared  for  the  worst.  Larry,  whose  company  had 
been  again  ordered  down  to  Fort  Montgomery,  was 
stationed  near  a  long  thirty-two  pounder  which  had 
the  best  range  of  the  river,  and  was  not  a  little  nerv 
ous,  now  that  his  amorous  enlistment  had  brought 
him  face  to  face  with  something  more  than  garrison 
duty ;  but  his  wife,  Molly,  aflame  with  excitement, 


ECHOES  ALONG    THE  HUDSON.  221 

hovered  near  him,  voluble  now  with  gibes  and  taunts, 
and  again  with  words  of  cheer.  The  element  of  fear 
.seemed  totally  lacking  in  her  composition,  and  in 
this  respect  her  influence  was  good  over  the  raw 
recruits,  who  dreaded  to  "  show  the  white  feather," 
as  it  was  termed,  where  a  woman  was  undaunted. 
Thus  she  became  a  privileged  character,  and  was 
tolerated,  as  useful  camp-followers  often  are.  Many 
an  awkward  fellow,  though  badly  frightened,  would 
rather  march  to  a  cannon's  mouth  than  receive  a 
scornful  glance  from  Molly's  blatk  eyes ;  and  if  she 
gave  a  man  an  opprobrious  nickname,  it  stuck  to 
him  like  a  burr.  Colonel  Clinton  would  often  laugh, 
as  he  said, 

"  Molly  makes  soldiers  out  of  the  militia  faster 
than  the  drill  officers." 

But  Larry  had  become  proof  against  all  her  sar 
casms.  He  had  philosophically  accepted  his  matri 
monial  fate,  and  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  her 
keenest  thrusts. 

But  that  English  vessel  which  was  beating  slowly 
up  against  the  wind,  and  the  others  that  he  believed 
to  be  following,  might  give  him  something  harder 
to  digest  than  words,  and  he  heartily  wished  him 
self  back  in  the  "  Ould  Counthry,"  even  though 
there  was  "  not  a  praty  in  the  bin."  But  he  had 
nerve  enough  to  go  through  with  his  duties,  and 
that  was  all  that  was  required  of  him. 

At  last  it  was  thought  that  the  vessel  was  in  range, 
and  the  governor  himself,  as  well  as  the  officer  in 
command  of  the  artillery,  ran  his  eye  along  the  gun. 

"  Fire !"  he  cried. 

m 


222  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Every  eye  was  strained,  and  happy  were  they  who 
had  glasses.  A.shout  of  exultation  went  up,  as  the 
ball  was  seen  to  plow  into  the  tender's  quarter, 
and  applause  was  again  and  again  repeated  as  she 
quickly  went  about  and  scudded  down  the  river  be 
fore  the  wind.  The  echoes  had  scarcely  died  away, 
before  Larry  breathed  freer  in  the  hope  that  the 
attack  would  not  be  made,  and  that  he  should  "  live 
to  fight  another  day." 

Saville  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  follow 
the  tender  in  his  sail-boat,  and  observe  her  move 
ments,  and  was  soon  skimming  along  before  the 
breeze  at  a  rate  that  would  make  it  necessary  to 
drop  his  sail,-  unless  he  wished  to  enjoy  the  hospi 
tality  of  a  British  prison-ship.  As  it  was,  he  ap 
proached  so  near  that  a  brass  howitzer  on  the  tender 
was  brought  to  bear  upon  him,  and  the  ball  passed 
over  his  head,  striking  the  water  a  little  to  the  lee 
ward.  He  concluded  to  run  his  boat  into  a  shelter 
ing  cove,  until  the  tender  sailed  out  of  range ;  but 
in  doing  so,  had  narrow  escapes  from  two  more 
shots.  He  did  not  know  that  the  self-appointed 
scout  was  watching  all  from  the  sides  of  the  Dun- 
derberg,  and  that  Vera  would  grow  pale  as  she 
heard  of  his  peril. 

When  the  tender  had  receded  sufficiently,  he 
reefed  his  sail  and  followed  more  cautiously,  con 
tenting  himself  with  the  use  of  his  glass.  He  had 
not  proceeded  far,  before  the  English  vessel  sud 
denly  rounded  to,  and  cast  anchor.  A  boat  was 
lowered,  and  Saville  first  thought  that  they  intended 
giving  him  a  chase,  in  the  hope  that  he  might  be 


ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON.       22$ 

captured,  since  he  would  have  to  beat  up  against 
the  breeze.  But,  confident  of  the  sailing  abilities 
of  his  little"  craft,  he  determined  to  let  them  come 
within  range  of  his  rifle  before  going  about. 

But  the  boat,  on  the  contrary,  was  pulled  steadily 
toward  shore  ;  and  soon  a  farm-house,  at  the  base 
of  the  mountain,  was  in  flames,  while  the  cries  of 
its  occupants  came  to  him  faintly  against  the  gale. 

"  Do  they  call  that  war  ? "  muttered  Saville  in 
dignantly.  "  I  must  have  a  shot  at  those  base 
marauders."  And  he  ran  his  boat  in  shore,  behind 
a  projecting  rock,  and  unshipped  the  mast,  so  that 
nothing  could  be  seen.  Then,  seizing  his  rifle,  he 
sprang  up  the  mountain-side,  and  made  the  best 
speed  he  could,  over  the  rocks,  through  the  copse- 
wood,  toward  the  burning  dwelling. 

The  work  of  destruction  was  complete,  and  the 
incendiaries  had  already  embarked  before  he  came 
within  range.  He  feared  they  would  be  out  of 
reach  before  he  could  get  a  shot.  But  the  boat  had 
proceeded  from  the  shore  but  a  little  distance,  when 
a  sharp  report  rang  out  from  the  sides  of  the  Dun- 
derberg,  and  the  stroke  oarsman  fell  over  back 
ward.  This  caused  some  confusion  and  delay,  and 
Saville  gained  on  the  boat  rapidly.  But,  after  a 
moment  or  two,  the  oars  struck  the  water  more 
vigorously  than  ever,  and  Saville  was  about  to  fire, 
and  do  the  best  he  could,  when  a  second  well-aimed 
shot  disabled  the  oarsman  who  had  been  substi* 
tuted,  and  again  delayed  progress  somewhat. 

He  now  sprang  down  the  rocks  toward  the  wafer, 
and  whipping  out  the  glass  that  was  slung  over  his 


224  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

shoulder,  endeavored  to  distinguish,  if  possible,  the 
form  of  the  officer  in  command,  feeling  that  he, 
more  than  any  of  the  rest,  deserved  punishment. 
Though  this  man,  with  the  cowardice  in  keeping 
with  his  deed  of  rapine,  sought  to  hide  himself  among 
the  crew,  Saville's  glass  revealed  his  insignia  of 
rank.  Leaning  his  rifle  over  a  rock,  he  took  delibe 
rate  aim,  and  fired  ;  then,  taking  up  his  glass,  he  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  craven  spring  up,  and 
fall  overboard,  while  his  cry  of  pain  came  distinctly 
across  the  water.  He  was  immediately  pulled  or 
board,  but  whether  dead  or  alive,  Saville  could  not 
tell,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  more  the  boat  passed 
out  of  range.  The  few  random  shots  that  had  been 
fired  by  the  marines  pattered  harmlessly  against  the 
rocks  ;  for  the  two  fatal  marksmen  were  well  con 
cealed. 

Saville  now  remembered  that  Mr.  Brown  had  said 
that  he  would  be  watching  on  the  Dunderberg  that 
day,  and  he  at  once  surmised  that  it  was  he  who  had 
fired  the  first  two  shots.  In  the  hope  of  seeing  him 
and  taking  him  back  in  his  boat,  he  sent  his  power 
ful  voice  far  up  the  mountain, 

"A  friend— Saville." 

"  I  believe  you  are,  Mr.  Saville,"  said  a  quiet  voice 
at  his  side  ;  and  to  his  surprise,  on  looking  around, 
he  saw  the  object  of  his  thoughts  standing  before 
him. 

"  How,  in  the  name  of  the  impossible,  did  you  get 
here  without  my  seeing  you  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  that  I  could  be  something  of  a  scout 
and  wished  to  prove  it." 


ECHOES  ALONG    THE  HUDSON.  22$ 

"  You  can  be  invaluable  if  you  will,"  said  Saville, 
shaking  his  hand  heartily.  "  Those  were  splendid 
shots  you  made." 

"  Yours  was  a  better  one,  and  at  a  longer  distance. 
I  am  glad  you  hit  that  miscreant  in  command.  I 
would  have  sighted  him,  but  I  saw  you  coming,  and 
wished  to  delay  the  boat  till  you  got  within  range. 
But  it  would  have  been  an  infernal  shame  to  have 
let  that  fellow  escape,  for  he  treated  the  inmates  of 
the  farm-house  brutally.  Good  God!  the  thought 
of  such  a  wretch  coming  to  my  cabin  in  my  ab 
sence  !" 

"  Mr.  Brown,  you  owe  it  to  your  lovely  daughter 
to  place  her  in  some  position  of  safety  in  these 
troublous  times." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  muttered  the  father, 
with  contracting  brows. 

"  Let  us  find  an  asylum  for  her  and  old  Gula  at. 
once,  and  then  do  you  openly  join  the  army.  I  will 
look  after  your  interests." 

"  I  believe  I  will,"  said  the  exile  hesitatingly  ;  and 
he  suffered  Saville  to  lead  him  to  his  boat. 

If  they  had  been  near  the  fort  all  might  have  been 
well,  and  the  man  enrolled  in  the  Continental  service. 
But,  as  he  sat  quietly  in  the  boat,  while  it  tacked 
slowly  up  the  river  against  the  wind,  his  blood  had 
time  to  cool.  Reaction  from  thejfatigue  and  excite 
ment  of  the  day  set  in.  One  of  the  old  waves  of 
fear  and  despondency  began  to  surge  over  his  un 
stable-mind,  and  Saville  heard  him  mutter, 

"  My  God  !  I  have  shot  two  English  soldiers.  If 
ever  apprehended,  my  fate  is  made  doubly  certain." 


226  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

At  last  he  said  piteously,  "  Put  me  ashore  any 
where;  I  can  go  no  further." 

Saville  reminded  him  of  his  promise,  and  pleaded 
with  him  to  keep  it  for  Vera's  sake,  but  soon  saw 
that  it  was  in. vain. 

"  Put  me  ashore,"  was  the  only  response,  and  ut 
tered  in  tones  that,  were  almost  savage.  Then  he 
added,  half  apologetically,  "  I  am  not  myself  now, 
and  all  I  can  do  is  to  cower  and  hide.  I  will  see 
you  again  soon." 

Saville  reluctantly  acquiesced. 

"  Say  not  a  word  about  me  till  you  have  my  con 
sent,"  said  his  trembling  companion  ;  and  he  dashed 
into  the  thickest  copse-wood,  as  if  his  only  thought 
were  concealment. 

Alas  for  Vera ! 


SAVILLE'S  NIGHT  RECONNOISSANCE.         22J 


CHAPTER   XV. 

SAVILLE'S  NIGHT  RECONNOISSANCE. 

SAVILLE  proposed,  on  the  following  day,  to 
visit  the  cabin,  in  the  hope  of  finding  its  owner 
in  a  better  mood.  He  was  more  and  more  con 
vinced  of  the  wrong  of  leaving  Vera  so.  exposed, 
and  with  no  better  protector  than  one  who,  at 
times,  was  ready  to  fly  from  his  own  shadow.  He 
saw  that  her  father's  mind  was  more  shattered 
than  he  had  supposed,  that  he  could  not  be  de 
pended  on  even  from  hour  to  hour,  and  was  fast 
coming  to  the  conclusion  to  act  independently  of 
his  will,  if  possible. 

But  early  in  the  day  came  the  startling  tidings 
that  the  British  men-of-war — the  Phoenix,  carrying 
forty  guns,  and  the  Rose,  twenty, -were  standing 
steadily  up  the  river. 

Again  there  was  preparation  for  immediate  con 
flict,  but  the  vessels  came  to  anchor  within  six  miles 
of  the  fort,  and  there  remained  quietly. 

With  the  enemy,  however,  in  such  close  prox 
imity,  no  one  could  leave  his  post  that  night  or  the 
next  day. 

Governor  Clinton  was  greatly  alarmed,  and  with 
good  reason.  The  river  was  deep,  and,  with  a  fair 


228  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

wind,  the  ships  could  speedily  pass  his  guns,  unless 
disabled  ;  and,  once  above  the  Highlands,  a  rich  and 
defenseless  country  was  open  to  ravage.  He  feared 
that  they  might  take  advantage  of  some  dark  night, 
and  slip  by  him  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  moun 
tains. 

To  prevent  this,  the  shores  were  lined  with  guards, 
and  the  river  patroled  by  boats.  Huge  piles  of  brush 
wood,  and  other  inflammable  materials,  were  placed 
at  various  points  along  the  shore  opposite  the  fort, 
and  these  were  to  be  kindled  after  nightfall,  the 
moment  it  was  discovered  that  the  ships  were  under 
weigh.  Thus  the  fort  would  remain  in  darkness, 
while  the  men-of-war  must  pass  distinctly  through 
the  transient  glare,  and  so  become  excellent  targets. 

The  cannoniers  slept  by  their  guns,  while  Molly's 
scarlet  coat  flamed  along  the  ramparts  by  day,  and 
she  flitted  hither  and  thither  almost  as  restlessly 
at  night.  Every  morning  found  her  as  morose  and 
vixenish  as  one  of  the  wildcats  of  her  native  moun 
tains,  because  the  signal  fires  had  not  blazed,  and 
that  all  had  remained  quiet  on  the  Hudson. 

There  soon  -came  a  day  on  which  there  was  a 
steady  downfall  of  rain,  and  it  was  feared  that  the 
brush  -  heaps  and  combustibles  would  become  so 
dampened  that  they  would  not  kindle.  The  night 
promised  to  be  excessively  dark,  and  Saville  learned 
that  the  general  was  growing  anxious. 

He  again  volunteered  to  go  in  his  boat  on  a  re- 
connoissance,  and  his  offer  was  gladly  accepted. 

"  If  we  fire  three  shots  in  instant  succession,  you 
may  know  that  the  ships  are  under  weigh  up  the 


SAVILLE'S  NIGHT  KECONNOISSANCE.        229 

river ;  but  if  we  fire  at  intervals,  give  no  heed,  for  it 
may  be  necessary  in  self-defense,  or  we  may  have  a 
skirmish." 

"  Don't  do  anything  rash,"  said  the  governor. 
"  You  are  such  a  fire-eater,  that  I  scarcely  expect  to 
see  you  again." 

Saville  chose  two  active  young  fellows,  who  had 
been  boatmen,  to  accompany  him,  and  with  muffled 
oars  they  pulled  vigorously  at  first,  till  they  began 
to  approach  the  hostile  vessels.  Then  they  per 
mitted  themselves  to  drift  slowly  with  the  tide, 
which  was  in  their  favor.  The  darkness  had  become 
perfectly  intense,  and  there  was  not  a  sound  save 
the  heavy  patter  of  rain  on  the  water. 

They  drifted  for  a  period  that  seemed  intermina 
ble  to  their  excited  minds,  and  then  Saville  whis 
pered, 

"  I  fear  we  shall  pass  without  seeing  them.  The 
fact  that  they  have  no  lights  out  is  very  suspi 
cious." 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken  when  the  gentle  breeze 
from  the  south  caused  a  slight  creaking  of  cordage 
so  near  that  it  seemed  just  over  their  heads.  He  at 
once  crept  cautiously  to  the  bow  of  his  boat,  and 
put  out  his  hands,  so  that  it  might  not  strike  with 
even  the  slightest  concussion. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  faint  black  outline  loomed 
up  over  him,  and  a  moment  later  his  hands  touched 
the  sides  of  a  ship.  Feeling  stealthily  along,  he 
found  that  he  was  neaf  the  bow,  and,  by  standing 
up,  was  able  to  hold  his  boat  for  a  time  in  motion 
less  silence.  He  could  hear  the  confused  sound  of 


230  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

voices,  and  the  step  of  the  officer  of  the  watch,  but 
nothing  definite. 

At  last,  footsteps  and  voices  approached  the  bow 
of  the  ship  under  which  he  stood.  Some  one  said 
distinctly, 

"  It's  cursed  dark." 

"  Yes ;  but  that  would  be  in  our  favor,  if  we  only 
get  a  little  more  wind  from  the  present  quarter,  and 
could  feel  our  way  up  through  these  black  hills. 
It's  just  the  time  to  catch  the  rebels  napping." 

Saville  concluded  that  he  would  now  put  a  word 
in  their  counsels. 

"  Have  my  pistol  ready,"  he  whispered  to  the 
nearest  of  his  companions. 

Then,  by  a  powerful  effort,  he  pushed  his  boat 
well  away  from  the  ship,  and  shouted, 

"  But  the  rebels  are  not  na*pping,  and,  as  proof, 
take  that,"  and  he  fired  his  pistol  where  he  supposed 
the  group  to  be. 

There  was  a  sharp  cry  of  pain,  followed  by  great 
confusion  for  a  moment,  and  in  the  mean  time 
Saville's  companions  pulled  rapidly  away. 

"  Here,  a  lantern,  quick !  Hold  it  over  the  side," 
shouted  a  hoarse  voice. 

This  was  all  that  Saville  desired,  and  taking  up, 
his  rifle  he  fired  instantly,  and  man  and  lantern 
splashed  overboard. 

"  Lights,  lights  !  man  the  guns!  every  man  to  his 
post !  "  roared  the  same  gruff  voice.  "  This  comes 
of  playing  bopeep  in  the  dark.  The  cursed  rebels 
might  put  a  keg  of  powder  under  our  quarter,  and 
blow  us  up." 


SAVILLE'S  NIGHT  RECONN01SSANCE.        231 

"  Would  t'o  the  gods  I  had  thought  of  that  be 
fore,"  cried  Saville  ;  "  but  I  thank  you  for  the  sug 
gestion  all  the  same." 

"  Stop  his  mouth  with  grape-shot,"  thundered  the 
officer.  "  Isn't  there  a  musket  or  a  pop-gun  aboard, 
that  no  one  can  fire  a  shot  ?  " 

"  Pull  sharp  to  the  left,"  said  Saville  to  his  oars 
men. 

The  confusion  and  uproar  on  the  ship  were  so  great 
that  a  moment  or  two  elapsed  before  the  officer's 
order  could  be  obeyed,  and  then  a  bow-gun  belched 
forth  the  iron  hail,  and  a  scattering  fire  from  muskets 
commenced;  but  the  balls  only  cut  harmlessly  into 
the  water  in  the  region  where  the  bold  patrols  had 
been. 

When  once  und£r  the  rayless  shadow  of  the 
western  mountain,  Saville  felt  safe  from  pursuit.  In 
the  mean  time  numerous  lights  appeared  on  the 
other  ships,  and  indicated  their  positions. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you,"  said  Saville  to  his  com 
panions,  "  to  do  something  that,  after  all,  is  not  so 
dangerous  as  it  seems.  The  ships  there  are  lighted 
up,  while  complete  darkness  covers  us.  One  of  you 
can  scull,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes ;  both." 

"  Who  is  the  best  shot  ?" 

"  I  used  to  bring  a  squirrel  out  of  the  tallest  trees/ 
said  one  of  the  men. 

"  Well,  by  sculling  we  can  move  noiselessly  around 
among  the  ships,  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other, 
and  make  them  think  there  are  a  dozen  boats  here  in 
stead  of  one.  I  wish  two  shots  fired  in  rapid  succession 


232 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


occasionally,  to  increase  the  impression  of  numbers 
In  this  way  we  can  keep  them  in  an  uproar  and  state 
of  alarm  all  night,  while  we,  by  moving  rapidly  from 
point  to  point,  will  run  bat  little  risk  of  being  hit." 

His  companions  had  the  nerve  to  enter  upon  the 
scheme  at  first  with  zest ;  and  one  of  them,  seizing 
an  oar,  soon  propelled  the  boat  within  range  of  the 
ship  with  which  they  had  first  come  in  contact. 
Dropping  well  astern,  they  approached  slowly  and 
cautiously  her  nearest  quarter.  Soon  the  outline  of 
a  human  form  gave  Saville  a  fair  mark,  and  his  rifle 
again  rang  out  with  startling  distinctness  in  the  silent 
night. 

The  man  with  the  oar  then  sculled  rapidly  toward 
the  eastern  shore,  passing  directly  aft  of  the  vessel. 
Again  there  was  the  trampling  of  feet,  and  a  hurried 
giving  of  orders,  and  many  shots  were  fired  in  the 
direction  from  whence  had  been  seen  the  flash  of 
Saville's  rifle.  But,  in  the  momentary  delay,  the 
lively  little  craft  had  passed  so  far  to  the  eastward 
as  to  be  out  of  range. 

"  Now,"  said  Saville,  "let  us  give  them  two  shots 
on  the  other  quarter.  The  moment  we  fire,  scull 
down  the  river.  Come  around  well  abreast,  so  that 
it  will  seem  as  if  our  shots  were  fired  from  another 
boat." 

In  a  few  moments,  the  firing  from  the  ship  ceased, 
as  it  seemed  to  produce  no  effect ;  but  there  was 
evidently  great  excitement  on  board. 

They  had  scarcely  reached  the  position  which 
Saville  desired,  when  several  men  were  sent  aloft 
with  lanterns,  in  the  hope  that  their  rays  might 
penetiate  the  darkness  more  effectually. 


SAVILLE 'S  NIGHT  RECONNOISSANCE.         233 

"  Steady  and  careful  now,"  said  Saville.  "  Let  us 
each  pick  off  one  of  those  fellows  in  the  rigging. 
Fire  just  after  me." 

Thus  to  the  bewildered  and  harassed  marines 
two  flashes  came  from  a  new  and  unexpected 
point. 

Saville's  man  dropped  plump  on  the  deck,  the 
other  let  his  lantern  fall,  and,  after  an  ineffectual 
effort  to  climb  down,  fell  also. 

But  the  enemy  were  now  better  prepared,  and 
bullets  fell  thickly  around  the  unseen  assailants. 

Fortunately  they  escaped,  and  soon  reached  a 
point  to  the  south  where  their  position  was  unsus 
pected. 

"  They  are  getting  too  sharp  for  us  here,"  said 
Saville  ;  "  suppose  we  next  have  a  skirmish  with  that 
big  fellow  yonder." 

His  companions  agreed,  but  rather  reluctantly; 
for  this  measure  of  attacking  an  English  fleet  was 
more  than  they  bargained  for  on  leaving  the  fort. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  crack  across  her  bow,"  said  the 
man  at  the  oar  ;  "  but  would  rather  not  go  any  lower 
down." 

It  was  arranged  that  two  shots  should  be  fired 
again.  Drifting  with  the  tide,  they  slowly  ap 
proached  the  second  and  larger  ship,  which  was  the 
Phcenix,  and  watched  for  their  opportunity.  In  the 
meanwhile,  comparative  silence  was  again  restored, 
though  it  was  evident  that  all  hands  on  both  the 
ships  of  the  line  and  their  tenders  were  kept  in 
sleepless  vigilance  at  their  posts  by  their  ubiquitous 
assailants,  who  numbered  but  three. 

At  last,  dusky  forms  appeared,  and  the  two  rifles 


-34  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

again  awoke  the  sleeping  echoes,  but  with  what 
effect  could  not  be  seen. 

The  commander  of  the  Phcenix,  however,  warned 
by  the  experience  of  the  other  ship,  had  stationed 
marines  all  along  the  sides  of  his  vessels,  and  the 
return  volley  was  so  prompt  and  accurate  that  Sa- 
ville's  fellow  marksman  was  slightly  wounded.  Hap 
pily  the  man  at  the  oar  escaped,  and  they  again 
passed  out  of  range,  by  going  toward  the  western 
shore,  and  the  English  officers  soon  checked  the 
useless  firing  at  random. 

But  Saville  had  effected  his  object.  There  would 
be  nt>  sleep  on  the  British  vessels  that  night,  nor 
any  hope  of  catching  the  "  rebels  napping."  So  he 
hoisted  sail,  and  quietly  stood  up  the  river,  leaving 
the  sorely  puzzled  and  not  a  little  frightened  British 
crews  standing  at  their  guns  and  alarm-posts,  so 
that  any  attempt  at  boarding,  on  the  part  of  the 
indefinite  number  of  rebels  imagined  in  the  sur 
rounding  darkness,  might  be  repelled. 

Saville  and  his  companions  received  high  praise 
for  their  conduct,  and  were  soon  sleeping  peace 
fully,  while  the  harassed  enemy  remained  on  the 
alert  until  daybreak. 

NOTE. — The  incidents  of  the  preceding  chapters  are  largely  founded 
on  fact.  The  tidings  of  the  irruption  of  the  British  ships  into  the 
waters  of  the  Hudson  were  brought  as  described.  A  tender  of  these 
ships  ventured  within  range  of  Fort  Montgomery,  and  received  a  shot 
in  her  quarter.  On  retiring  down  the  river,  her  boat  was  sent  ashore, 
a  farm-house  burnt,  and  the  boat,  on  returning,  was  fired  upon.  The 
Phcenix  and  Rose  approached  within  six  miles  of  the  fort,  and,  when 
ever  opportunity  offered,  the  English  vessels  were  annoyed  by  marks 
men  in  boats  or  from  the  shore. 


DARK  DAYS.  235 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

DARK   DAYS. 

ON  the  following  day  the  commanders  of  the 
British  vessels  satisfied  themselves  that  fuller 
preparations  for  resistance  had  been  made  than  they 
supposed  ;  and,  not  relishing  the  experience  of  the 
preceding  night,  nor  considering  it  safe  to  remain  in 
a  position  where  the  deep  shadows  of  the  moun 
tains  might  afford  concealment  until  an  attacking 
force  was  close  upon  them,  they  ordered  their 
ships  down  the  river  to  the  old  anchorage. 

Fear  of  immediate  attack  having  passed,  Saville's 
thoughts  recurred  to  Vera  and  her  father,  and  he 
proposed  visiting  them  that  evening,  hoping  that 
he  might  find  Mr.  Brown  in  a  condition  to  carry 
out  the  measures  on  which  his  own  and  Vera's 
welfare  depended.  But  during  the  afternoon  he 
was  hastily  summoned  to  headquarters. 

"  I  can  now  give  you  a  quasi  leave  of  absence," 
said  General  Clinton  ;  "  and  you  have  earned  it.  Go 
and  look  after  your  mother's  safety.  But  first  de 
liver  these  dispatches  to  his  Excellency,  General 
Washington.  They  are  important,  and  must  reach 
him  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  Your  escort 


236  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

will  be  ready  within  an  hour  on  the  further  shore. 
I  have  mentioned  your  name  with  praise  in  my  dis 
patches,  and  though  I  shall  feel  your  loss,  you  will 
probably  be  assigned  to  duty  in  the  main  army. 
When  things  are  somewhat  settled,  your  heavy  bag 
gage  will  be  sent  after  you.  And  now,  sir,  hasten  ; 
give  those  papers  into  his  Excellency's  own  hands, 
or  into  those  of  his  private  secretary." 

Saville  was  greatly  pleased  at  this  turn  of  affairs, 
and,  in  the  excitement  and  bustle  attendant  upon 
his  hurried  departure,  forgot  for  a  time  the  inmates 
of  the  cabin.  When  he  did  remember  them,  it  was 
with  a  pang  of  genuine  pain  and  regret,  that  he  could 
not  see  Vera  before  his  departure.  As  this  was  im 
possible,  he  penned  a  few  hasty  lines,  explaining  his 
sudden  movements,  and  urging  that  she  should  find 
a  safer  retreat,  and  that  her  father  should  enlist 
openly  in  the  war.  This  was  sent  to  the  surgeon  at 
Fort  Constitution,  with  the  request  that  he  would 
deliver  it.  Unfortunately,  the  missive  was  never 
received. 

Having  arrived  in  New  York,  and  delivered  his 
dispatches  as  directed,  Saville  received  permission 
to  provide  for  his  mother's  safety. 

The  old  lady,  however,  would  not  leave  her  city 
home,  asserting, 

"  I  have  naught  to  do  with  this  unnatural  broil, 
and  shall  demand  protection  from  both  parties." 

But,  after  all,  her  chief  motive  was  the  desire  to 
be  near  her  beloved  son,  who,  she  hoped,  might  be 
assigned  to  duty  upon  the  works  that  were  going 
up  at  various  points  on  the  island.  In  this  expecta- 


DARK  DA  VS. 


237 


tion  she  was  ready  to  endure  the  terrors  attendant 
upon  the  city's  bombardment. 

Saville  therefore  gave  up  his  leave  of  absence,  and 
at  once  reported  for  duty  again.  In  consideration 
of  his  natural  desire  to  see  more  of  his  mother,  after 
so  long  an  absence,  he  was  given  charge  of  the  con 
struction  of  some  redoubts  not  far  from  his  own 
house,  and  at  a  point  where  his  wife  could  plainly 
scan  his  movements  with  a  glass.  Often  and  darkly 
she  scowled  upon  him. 

But  the  disastrous  battle  of  Long  Island  soon 
occurred,  and  was  Speedily  followed  by  the  retreat 
of  the  American  forces  from  the  city  and  island. 
Saville,  in  his  sphere,  and  to  the  extent  of  his  ability, 
seconded  Washington's  masterly  use  of  the  pick  and 
shovel  in  the  disheartening  campaign  that  followed. 
•He  now  sought  thoroughly  to  learn  his  profession, 
and  became  an  efficient  officer.  Washington  learned 
to  know  something  of  his  value,  finding  that  he  had 
promptness  and  energy,  which  enabled  him  to  ac 
complish  much  even  fwith  few  men  ;  and  at  times, 
defenses  reared  in  a  night  were  worth  regiments. 

On  the  4th  and  5th  of  November,  the  British  forces 
began  to  retire  from  before  Washington's  strong 
position  in  the  interior  of  Westchester  County,  tak 
ing  the  roads  leading  southward  and  toward  the 
river.  As  soon  as  it  became  evident  that  the  enemy 
would  cross  into  the  Jerseys  and  menace  Philadel 
phia,  Saville  was  sent  thither  to  aid  in  strengthening 
the  defenses  of  that  city.  Thus  his  hope  of  seeing 
Vera  at  the  close  of  the*  fall  campaign  was  disap 
pointed.  He  wrote  to  her  again,  as  he  had  several 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

times  before,  in  care  of  the  surgeon  at  Fort  Consti 
tution.  But  that  officer  had  been  assigned  to  duty 
elsewhere,  and  the  letters  never  reached  their  desti 
nation.  Saville  comforted  himself  with  the  hope 
that  Vera  was  informed  of  his  movements  and  con 
tinued  remembrance. 

As  day  after  day  passed,  and  nothing  was  seen 
or  heard  of  her  friend,  a  great  dread  began  to  chill 
Vera's  heart.  Her  father  had  come  back  from  his 
watch  on  the  Dunderberg  in  a  wretched  condition 
of  mind.  With  scarcely  a  word,  he  had  cowered  all 
the  long  night  in  his  dark  corner*  But,  as  the  result 
of  rest  and  quiet,  the  incubus  lifted  from  his  mind 
somewhat  in  the  morning,  and  Vera  heard  of  Sa 
ville's  peril  in  following  the  tender  down  the  river, 
and  of  his  firing  into  the  marauders'  boat.  Of  his 
own  share  in  the  transaction  her  father  was  charac 
teristically  silent,  even  to  his  daughter. 

On  the  dark  and  stormy  night  of  Saville's  recon- 
noissance,  the  southern  breeze  had  borne  faintly 
through  the  damp  air  the  reports  of  the  guns.  To 
her,  every  such  sound  now  meant  danger  to  him. 

The  days  passed,  and  still  he  did  not  come.  Her 
father  told  her  that  the  ships  had  moved  down  the 
river.  As  far  as  she  could  judge,  the  garrison  oppo 
site  had  no  apprehension  of  immediate  attack.  She 
urged  her  father  to  go  down  to  Fort  Montgomery 
and  make  direct  inquiries ;  but  vainly.  Saville's 
prolonged  and  unexplained  absence  had  awakened 
his  morbid  suspicions  and  fears,  and  his  mind  was 
so  shattered  that  he  was  rtot  capable  of  the  effort. 

A  look  of  wistful,   an-xious  expectancy    became 


DARK  DA  VS. 


239 


the  habitual  expression  of  Vera's  face.  The  slight 
est  sound  startled  her.  In  her  daily  tasks,  her  face 
was  ever  toward  the  window.  The  breaking  of  a 
twig,  the  bark  of  a  squirrel,  brought  her  to  the  door. 
She  often  ventured  down  to  the  shore,  and  strained 
her  eyes  in  the  vain  effort  to  recognize  him  on  the 
island  opposite.  Constant  prayer  for  his  welfare 
and  speedy  return  was  in  her  heart. 

At  the  twilight  hour,  when  he  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  appear,  she  would  climb  to  the  rocky 
height  behind  the  cabin,  and  wait  and  watch,  as 
they  who  are  wrecked  on  a  barren  island  scan  the 
horizon  for  a  ship.  As  dusk  deepened  into  night, 
her  despondency  would  become  more  leaden  and 
oppressive.  Then  she  would  drag  her  heavy  steps 
back  to  the  cabin,  and  sigh  and  sob  herself  to  sleep. 

Not  even  Gula's  entreaties  could  induce  her  to  eat 
much,  and  she  grew  wan  and  spirit-like  indeed.  The 
old  woman  began  to  shake  her  head  ominously,  and 
mutter, 

"  Fse  afeard  she's  beginnin'  to  hear  voices.  'Twill 
be  orful  lonely  if  she  goes  home  afore  ole  Gula." 

One  evening  after  she  had  been  vainly  watching,, 
she  tried  to  sing  the  musical  signal  which  he  had  so 
often  answered  by  voice  and  flute, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

She  sang  one  line  with  a  pathos  that  would  have 
touched  the  stoniest  nature,  and  then  held  her  throb 
bing  heart  to  listen.  The  weird  notes  of  a  whippoor- 
will  from  the  lonely  valley  were  the  only  answer. 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  ground,  like  a  child, 


240 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


in  an  agony  of  grief,  and  wept  until  utterly  exhausted. 
When  she  looked  up,  the  lurid  glare  of  the  beacon 
fires  was  again  upon  the  mountain-tops,  but  he  had 
not  come. 

"  O  God !  "  she  sighed  wearily.  "  I  am  a  weak 
child.  I  had  but  one  friend — one  brother.  Where 
is  Thy  mercy? 

"  O  mother  !  are  you  happy  in  heaven,  when  I  am 
so  lonely  ?  " 

Poor  Vera  was  in  the  deepest  mystery  of  earthly 
discipline.  Her  God,  her  mother,  and  her  friend,  all 
seemed  to  have  deserted  her  that  night,  and  she 
could  scarcely  drag  her  weary  feet  to  the  home  where 
no  gentle  sympathy  awaited. 

Her  father  was  away  upon  the  hills  with  his  rifle 
most  of  the  time,  and  was  wholly  absorbed  by  his 
interest  in  the  progress  of  the  war,  at  which  he  could 
only  guess,  as  he  would  speak  to  no  one.  Vera  had 
hoped  that  he  might  again  meet  Saville,  and  when 
ever  he  returned,  she  eagerly  questioned  him. 

Old  Gula,  in  her  strange  superstition,  sorrowed 
mostly  for  herself,  as  she  saw  Vera  growing  pale  and 
weak  like  the  parent  who  had  died. 

"  Young  missy  is  a  gwine  home  to  her  mudder, 
and  I'll  be  left  all  alone.  Why  can't  de  voices  call 
me  too  ?" 

On  the  evening  after  her  almost  despairing  grief, 
Vera  said  to  herself,  "  I  can  endure  this  suspense  no 
longer.  He  is  either  sick,  wounded,  or  dead  ;  for  he 
could  not  have  left  without  a  word  of  farewell.  I 
will  go  to  the  fort  and  find  out.  He  may  have  needed 
my  help,  while  I  have  been  weakly  mourning  for  him.' 


DARK  DA  VS.  241 

Nerved  by  this  thought,  she  waited  not  a  moment, 
lest  her  maidenly  timidity  should  obtain  the  mastery. 
For  his  sake — impelled  by  the  thought  that  he  might 
possibly  be  in  need  of  her  care — she  could  venture 
to  face  the  stare  of  strangers. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  row  her  light  skiff- to  the 
opposite  shore,  and  bitter  tears  filled  her  eyes  as  she 
thought  of  the  two  former  occasions  on  which  she 
had  crossed  at  that  place. 

Near  the  spot  where  she  had  landed  when  in  quest 
of  the  surgeon,  she  saw  a  small  group  of  men,  and, 
from  their  uniforms,  surmised  that  they  were  officers. 
It  occurred  to  her  that  she  might  question  them,  and 
be  saved  the  ordeal  of  meeting  others.  She  con 
cluded  to  ask  for  the  surgeon,  since,  if  Saville  were 
sick,  wounded,  or — her  heart  sickened  at  the  thought 
— he  would  know  all  the  facts. 

Unfortunately,  the  officers  whom  she  was  about  to 
address  were  wild,  reckless  fellows,  who  had  made 
their  normal  condition  worse  by  liquor. 

"  There's  a  rare  bird,"  cried  one,  as  Vera  ap 
proached. 

"  I  would  see  Mr.  Jasper,  the  surgeon,"  she  said 
modestly,  with  downcast  eyes  ;  "  and  crave  the  favor 
of  being  shown  where  I  may  find  him." 

"  The  surgeon,  pretty  miss !  you  have  no  need  of  a 
surgeon.  It  is  a  gay  young  gallant  like  myself  you 
are  looking  for." 

"  You  do  me  great  wrong,  sir,"  she  replied  coldly  ; 
"  and  if  there  is  a  man  of  honor  present,  he  will 
grant  my  request." 

"  We  have  no  surgeon,"  continued  the  first  speaker 
ii 


242  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART, 

recklessly.  "  A  soldier's  only  business  is  to  die,  and 
to  have  a  jovial  time  while  he  can.  So  come,  my 
pretty  one,  exchange  your  frowns  for  smiles." 

"  As  you  are  men,"  cried  Vera  desperately,  trem 
bling  like  a  leaf,  "  have  respect  for  a  defenseless  girl, 
and  tell  me  where  I  may  find  Surgeon  Jasper." 

The  instincts  of  a  gentleman  still  lingered  in  one 
of  the  party,  and,  in  response  to  this  appeal,  he  said 
soberly, 

"  He  is  right,  miss ;  there  is  no  surgeon  at  the 
present  moment  in  the  garrison,  Dr.  Jasper  having 
been  ordered  away." 

"  Then— then— may  I  see  Mr.  Saville?"  faltered 
Vera. 

4<  Saville,  Saville,"  laughed  the  first  speaker  coarse 
ly ;  "  she  had  him  in  mind  all  the  time." 

In  pity  for  her  distress,  the  second  speaker  again 
came  to  her  relief,  and  said, 

"  Lieutenant  Saville  is  not  here,  and  I  have  heard 
that  he  was  ordered  hastily  to  New  York." 

"Come,  my  lass  o'  the  hills,"  struck  in  the  tipsy 
youth.  "  The  crows  have  eaten  Saville  before  this. 
I'll  be  to  you  a  far  better  lover." 

"  For  shame,  Dick,  let  her  alone.  Saville  will  call 
you  to  bloody  account,  if  he  hears  of  this  nonsense." 

"  Things  have  come  to  a  fine  pass,"  blustered  the 
fellow,  "  if  I've  got  to  ask  Saville's  permission  to 
speak  to  a  mountain  wench.  By  Jove  !  I'll  kiss  her, 
if  I  fight  a  dozen  Savilles,"  and  he  started  forward 
to  give  the  insult. 

Vera,  with  her  old  instantaneous  quickness,  which 
had  once  surprised  Saville,  eluded  him,  sprang  into 


DARK  DAYS. 


243 


her  skiff,  and  was  out  in  the  stream  in  a  moment, 
while  her  insulter,  unsteady  from  liquor,  missed  his 
footing,  and  fell  into  the  water.  His  companions 
roared  with  laughter  at  his  plight,  and  ere  he  could 
scramble  out,  sputtering  and  profane,  Vera  was  half 
way  across  the  river. 

Every  nerve  in  the  poor  girl's  body  was  tingling 
with  indignation  and  fear,  w*hen  she  reached  the 
shore.  She  scarcely  had  strength  to  climb  over 
the  hills  to  the  cabin,  and  then  fainted  across  its 
threshold. 

Old  Gula  was  in  sore  dismay,  but  had  sense  enough 
to  carry  her  to  the  cool  spring,  and  bathe  her  face. 
At  last  she  slowly  revived,  but  was  seriously  ill  for 
several  days. 

Still,  the  bitterness  of  her  mental  trouble  had  been 
relieved,  for  Saville's  absence  was  accounted  for. 
He  had  been  ordered  hurriedly  away.  In  her  strong 
trust,  she  believed  that  there  had  been  no  opportu 
nity  for  a  farewell  visit,  and  there  was  no  necessity 
for  thinking  that  he  was  either  sick,  wounded,  or 
dead.  Although  he  was  exposed  to  the  innumera 
ble  risks  of  a  brave  man  in  an  active  campaign,  her 
confidence  increased  that  God  would  spare  him  in 
answer  to  her  prayers. 

With  reviving  hope  and  faith,  her  strength  and 
vigor  returned ;  for,  in  her  case,  the  spiritual  and 
physical  organizations  were  so  closely  allied  that  one 
could .  not  suffer  without  keen  sympathy  from  the 
other.  But  in  both  she  was  naturally  healthful 
having  been  nurtured  in  the  atmosphere  of  truth, 
and  the  bracing  air  of  the  mountains. 


244  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

Her  father,  upon  her  illness,  seemed  at  last  some- 
what  conscious  of  his  daughter's  need,  and,  in  his 
poor  way,  sought  to  meet  it.  He  waited  upon  her 
with  unwonted  tenderness,  and  brought  the  delica 
cies  of  wood  and  stream  ;  but  he  had  lost  the  power 
to  speak  soothing  and  appreciative  words.  His  own 
disordered  mind  was  tossed  on  such  a  sea  of  troubles, 
that  he  had  no  calming  thoughts  for  another. 

Thus,  in  her  sad  isolation,  Vera  was  compelled  to 
look  heavenward,  and,  in  her  long  hours  of  weak 
ness,  the  unseen  world  of  faith  grew  very  near  and 
real.  She  felt  sure  that  her  mother  was  watching 
at  her  side,  and  in  the  night,  at  times,  fancied  she 
saw  the  dear,  familiar  form.  The  impression  was 
often  so  strong,  that  she  would  reach  out  her  arms 
with  expressions  of  endearment,  or  speak  her 
thoughts  with  the  freedom  of  olden  time,  when  sure 
of  loving  sympathy. 

Her  mother's  favorite  text,  "  Let  not  your  heart 
be  troubled,"  acquired  daily  richer  and  fuller  mean 
ing,  and  the  ability  to  trustfully  cast  all  her  burdens 
on  her  Saviour  increased. 

So,  although  the  strain  and  nervous  excitement 
of  the  past  year  had  been  very  great,  she  slowly 
but  surely  rallied  back  into  her  old,  vigorous  health. 
She  would  need  it  all  in  her  coming  desperate  strug 
gle  for  bare  existence. 

By  the  time  she  had  fully  recovered,  the  autumn 
winds  were  prophesying  of  winter,  and,  with  a  fore 
thought  learned  in  the  hard  school  of  experience, 
she  realized  the  necessity  of  making  all  possible 
provision.  She  knew  how  little  her  father  was  to 


DARK  DA  VS.  24$ 

be  depended  on,  and  he  might  grow  worse.  There 
fore,  as  she  grew  strong,  she  became  busily  engaged 
with  her  old  playmates,  the  squirrels,  in  hoarding 
everything  that  could  be  preserved  for  coming  use. 

As  her  father  could  not  be  induced  to  openly 
join  the  Continental  service,  she  persuaded  him,  as 
far  as  she  could,  to  resume  his  old  hunting  and 
trapping  pursuits. 

It  might  be  a  long  time  before  she  would  see 
Saville  again,  or  before  her  hope  of  finding  friends 
and  a  recognized  place  in  society  would  be  realized. 
So,  nothing  remained  but  the  patient  performance 
of  present  duties. 

And  yet  the  dangers  resulting  from  her  position, 
and  her  father's  vain  ejifort  to  hide  from  all  observa 
tion,  were  increasing.  Nothing  so  attracts  attention 
as  unusual  efforts  to  shun  it,  and  nothing  so  piques 
curiosity  as  mystery  and  concealment. 

Relieved  from  Saville's  immediate  presence,  it  was 
not  long  before  Molly's  tongue  began  to  wag  again, 
in  dark  hints  as  to  the  uncanny  character  of  the 
inmates  of  the  cabin.  While  such  gossip  had  no 
weight  with  the  officers,  it  did  with  certain  of  the 
ignorant  soldiery,  and  gradually  Vera  and  Gula  were 
acquiring  the  titles  of  the  "  white  and  black  witches 
of  the  Highlands."  If  Molly  had  urged  on  some 
of  the  baser  sort,,  over  whom  she  had  obtained 
almost  all  the  power  of  a  gypsy  queen,  Vera's  homely 
duties  might  have  found  tragic  interruption ;  but  a 
wholesome  fear  of  Saville's  vengeance  restrained 
her.  And  yet  Vera,  unconsciously,  was  living  over  a 
mine  which  might  be  fired  at  any  time. 


246 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


To  the  officers,  also,  Brown,  from  his  seclusion, 
and  the  fact  that  no  one  could  account  for  him,  was 
an  object  of  suspicion,  and  they  would  be  inclined 
to  deal  summarily  with  him  should  any  one  bring  a 
definite  accusation. 

But  though  wrong-doing  in  the  past,  and  most 
unwise  action  now,  must  cause  their  legitimate  evil 
results,  God  would  not  permit  his  child  to  suffer 
beyond  her  ability  to  endure. 

During  the  month  of  October,  the  beacon  fires 
had  often  flamed,  and  yet  while  Vera  and  her  father 
saw  that  there  was  unusual  stir  and  preparation  in 
the  garrisons,  and  extraordinary  efforts  to  obstruct 
the  navigation  of  the  river,  no  attack  was  made,  and 
they  remained  in  almost  total  ignorance  of  the 
progress  of  the  war. 

At  last  the  exile  could  endure  his  anxiety  no 
longer,  and  he  determined  to  find  out  the  condition 
of  affairs  ;  but,  with  his  old  characteristic  caution, 
went  across  the  mountains  to  an  interior  village,  for 
the  ostensible  purpose  of  barter.  He  had  in  his 
mind  the  inoffensive-appearing  old  man  whom  he 
had  once  before  ventured  to  question,  and  felt  that 
if  circumstances  favored,  he  could  do  so  again  with 
out  risk. 

He  found  the  aged  gardener  at  work  as  before, 
and  as  talkative  as  ever.  But  the  dismal  tale  that 
he  told  of  the  American  defeat  on  Long  Island,  of 
the  evacuation  of  New  York,  of  continued  retreats, 
and,  worse  than  all,  of  the  second  irruption  of  the 
British  ships  into  the  Hudson,  caused  Mr.  Brown's 
cheeks,  already  pale,  to  grow  more  ashen. 


DARK  DA  K6.  247 

"  How  is  it  you  don't  know  'bout  these  things  ?  " 
asked  the  old  man  with  sudden  curiosity. 

"  I  live  back  in  the  mountains,"  was  the  hasty  re 
ply  ;  and  the  fear-stricken  man  waited  for  no  further 
questions,  but  started  for  the  hills,  with  the  one  de 
sire  to  find  in  them  some  impenetrable  recess  for 
concealment. 

At  first,  he  was  bent  upon  leaving  the  cabin  at 
once;  but  Vera,  with  gentle  firmness,  refused  to 
listen,  to  any  of  his  wild  plans.  She  saw  clearly  that 
the  time  had  come  when  her  judgment  and  will 
must  be  supreme.  But  he  ventured  less  and  less 
abroad,  and  the  impression  appeared  to  grow  upon 
him  that  his  dusky  corner  was  the  safest  place. 
Here  he  would  often  remain  all  day,  and  some 
times  through  the  night  also,  apparently  dread 
ing  to  move. 

As  one  of  the  results  of  her  father's  condition, 
the  task  of  providing  food  devolved  chiefly  on  Vera  ; 
and  the  bleakness  of  November  and  the  biting 
cold  of  winter  often  chilled  her  weary  frame,  as 
she  wandered  over  the  hills  in  quest  of  game.  But 
the  chill  -at  heart,  the  cold,  dreary  despondency 
which  often  crept  over  her  while  engaged  in  these 
unwomanly  and  unseasonable  labors,  was  harder  to 
bear.  She  could  not  now  anticipate  the  welcome  of 
a  gentle  and  sympathetic  mother  on  her  return. 
Even  when  cold  and  exhausted,  she  almost  dreaded 
going  back  to  the  cabin  where  her  father  crouched 
and  cowered,  haunted  by  fears  that  were  becoming 
contagious,  and  where  weird  old  Gula  muttered  and 
mumbled  unceasingly  of  her  unearthly  voices.  The 


248  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

poor  girl  herself  was  growing  morbid  in  her  misfor 
tunes  and  unnatural  surroundings. 

The  hard  struggle  for  mere  existence  began  to 
blunt  her  finer  sensibilities,  and  she  was  often  too 
weary  for  even  prayer  or  thought.  Like  many 
others,  under  the  increasing  stress  of  earthly  care, 
she  permitted  herself  to  gradually  lose  her  hold 
upon  the  Divine  strength  and  patience,  which  her 
mother  had  ever  enjoyed,  through  her  confiding 
and  ^unquestioning  faith.  Not  that  she  entertained 
doubts  of  God's  ability  and  willingness  to  help,  or 
cherished  resentful  thoughts  at  her  lot;  but,  in  the 
pressure  of  daily  duties,  prayer  was  neglected.  She 
was  drifting  unconsciously  from  the  quiet  waters, 
where  faith  had  kept  her  spirit  moored  in  peace, 
out  upon  the  restless  sea  of  mere  human  endeavor 
and  dependence.  Like  many  another,  she  could 
still  pray  "  Lead  me  not  into  temptation,  and  de 
liver  me  from  evil ; "  but  for  "  daily  bread  "  she 
turned  practically  to  her  traps  in  the  thickets,  to  her 
fowling-piece,  and  to  the  diminishing  stores  that  her 
own  hands  had  gathered.  Unfortunately,  the  ques 
tion  of  daily  bread  was  the  absorbing  one,  and,  as 
we  have  seen,  it  did  not  bring  her  near  the  Divine 
source  of  spiritual  largeness  and  growth.  Thus  her 
life  began  to  grow  hard,  material,  and  devoid  of 
those  influences  which  had  made  her  appear  to 
Saville  more  akin  to  the  supernatural  world  in 
which  she  believed,  than  the  tangible  one  which 
was  all  to  him. 

The  poor  child  was  learning  to  employ  bodily 
fatigue  as  many  use  narcotic  drugs,  and  sought  to 


DARK  DA  VS. 


249 


escape  from  her  desperate  loneliness  in  the  oblivion 
of  sleep,  whenever  her  tasks  permitted.  In  dreams, 
at  least,  she  occasionally  saw  her  mother's  loved 
face  bending  over  her,  with  the  old  expression  of 
tenderness  ;  more  frequently  Saville's  flute  gave  the 
musical  signal  from  the  rocky  height  above  her 
grotto,  and  she,  in  spirit,  hastened  to  the  tryst ;  but 
ever  to  awake  and  find  it  only  a  dream.  Although 
she  would  sob  herself  to  sleep  again,  she  would  still 
hope  for  the  return  of  the  vision,  that  she  might 
once  more  see  his  face  and  hear  his  voice. 

Vera  began  to  realize,  in  some  degree,  that  she 
was  growing  narrow,  and  dwindling  toward  a  mere 
animal  existence ;  and  she  shed  bitter  tears  over  the 
truth.  She  sometimes  tried  to  overcome  the  tend 
ency,  and  would  take  down  the  Bible,  or  the  Plays, 
after  the  labors  of  the  day ;  but  her  kead  would  soon 
droop  upon  the  page,  and-  the  pine  knots  sink  into 
ashes,  as  had  her  hopes. 

Her  father  was  dreading  lest  he  should  become 
known,  and  compelled  to  carry  his  secret  into  the 
presence  of  questioning  curiosity.  With  almost 
terror  at  the  thought,  Vera  began  to  ask  herself, 

"  Am  I  always  to  live  this  life  ?  Am  I  to  be  left 
here  till  I  become  little  better  than  the  beasts  and 
birds  of  prey  that  hide  in  these  mountains  ?  Indeed, 
I  envy  them  ;  for  they,  at  least,  have  companions  of 
their  own  kind." 

She  was  able  to  feel  her  isolation  more  keenly 

since   she   had   been   given  a  glimpse  of  the  world, 

and,  in   her  intimacy  with  Saville,  had   learned   to 

know  the  sweets  of  congenial  society  and  friendship. 

n* 


250 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


Though  so  very  young,  she  was  becoming  one  of 
earth's  weariest  pilgrims,  and,  at  times,  she  almost 
felt,  when  benumbed  with  cold,  like  lying  down  in 
some  wild  mountain-gorge,  and  letting  the  snow 
drift  over  her  as  she  sank  to  sleep.  If  she  had 
believed,  with  Saville,  that  it  would  have  been  a 
dreamless,  eternal  sleep,  she  would  undoubtedly 
have  yielded  to  the  temptation. 

Thus  the  winter  dragged  heavily  on,  till  the  sun 
turned  from  its  decline  southward,  and  began  to  fill 
the  mountains  with  brighter  and  more  genial  rays. 
But  she,  who  had  always  welcomed  this  change, 
scarcely  heeded  it.  Perhaps  the  sharp  suffering  and 
seemingly  untoward  events  soon  to  come,  would  be 
better  than  the  slow,  increasing  pressure  of  the 
sordid  cares  and  loneliness  of  her  lot.  Immediate 
and  pressing  dangers  might  break  up  the  apathy  of 
practical  unbelief,  wherein  God  becomes  a  being  who 
must  be  prayed  to  and  served,  but  ceases  to  be  a 
helpful,  sympathetic  friend.  Anything  that  would 
drive  her  to  Him  as  a  refuge  would  be  a  blessing; 
anything  that  broke  the  leaden  monotony  of  her  life, 
a  healthful  change. 


THE  WHITE    WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS.      251 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

"THE  WHITE  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS." 

IN  the  latter  part  of  February,  the  stores  in  their 
little  cabin  ran  so  low  that  it  was  necessary  they 
should  be  replenished  by  a  visit  to  some  country 
store.  But  her  father,  from  long  inaction  and  brood 
ing,  was  in  his  worst  mood,  and  it  was  in  vain  that 
Vera  besought  him  to  go  on  the  errand.  At  last, 
in  her  desperation,  she  decided  to  go  herself  one 
morning.  On  ascending  the  hill  behind  the  cabin, 
she  saw  that  the  river  was  covered  with  smooth  ice. 
She  went  down  to  the  point  of  land  which  enabled 
her  to  look  up  the  river,  and  through  the  cold,  clear 
air,  the  villages  of  New  Windsor  and  Newburgh 
seemed  not  far  away.  Returning,  she  took  a  little 
of  their  hoarded  money,  and,  without  a  word  to  her 
father,  started  on  what  was,  to  her,  like  the  voyage 
of  Columbus,  a  journey  into  the  unknown.  Her 
only  weapon  of  defense  was  a  light,  strong  staff, 
pointed  with  iron,  which  would  enable  her  to  try 
the  ice,  and  also  assist  in  walking.  She  kept  close 
to  the  western  shore,  so  that,  like  a  timid  hare,  she 
might  fly  to  cover,  if  she  deemed  it  necessary. 
Though  she  found  the  way  longer  than  she  sup 
posed,  and  the  effort  to  walk  on  the  smooth  ice 


252 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


against  the  wind  very  fatiguing,  she  reached  in 
safety  the  shores  of  New  Windsor,  where  she  saw 
a  building  whose  appearance  led  her  to  hope  that 
she  might  there  obtain  what  she  wished.  To  her  joy 
the  surmise  proved  correct,  and  she  was  saved  fur 
ther  weary  steps.  She  asked  and  obtained  permis 
sion  to  sit  down  and  rest  awhile.  Many  and  curious 
were  the  glances  cast  upon  her  by  the  loungers  that 
always  infest  such  places,  especially  in  winter. 

Some  tried  to  engage  her  in  conversation,  but 
there  was  something  in  their  tones  and  manner  that, 
though  she  did  not  understand,  she  disliked,  and, 
with  an  innate  dignity  and  reserve,  which  is  a  true 
woman's  sure  protection  unless  men  are  equal  to 
brute  violence,  she  silenced  them.  She  would  have 
gladly  hastened  away,  had  she  not  felt  that  rest  and 
the  warmth  of  the  place  were  essential  for  a  time, 
before  starting  on  the  homeward  journey  with  her 
laden  basket. 

Among  the  men  present,  when  she  entered,  was 
a  knot  of  rough-looking  soldiers,  who  had  impressed 
her  most  disagreeably.  They  had  stared  at  her  a 
few  moments,  winked  at  each  other,  and  then,  to 
her  relief,  departed. 

As  soon  as  she  felt  equal  to  the  effort,  she  started 
homeward  ;  but  the  sun  was  already  declining  ;  the 
sky  also  was  becoming  overcast,  and  the  rising  wind 
betokened  a  storm.  By  the  time  she  reached  Butter 
Hill,  the  snowflakes  began  to  fly,  and  not  a  soli 
tary  form  was  seen  on  the  dreary  expanse  of  ice, 
where,  in  the  morning,  travelers  had  appeared  in 
the  distance. 


THE    WHITE    WITCH  OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.      253 

Still,  this  did  not  trouble  her,  for  she  did  not 
dread  a  storm  as  much  as  she  feared  meeting  rude 
fellows  coming  or  going  from  the  garrisons  below. 
Her  only  concern  was  lest  the  snow  might  make  her 
progress  dangerous,  by  covering  the  occasional  air 
holes  that  almost  always  occur  in  the  ice  among 
the  Highlands. 

But,  imagine  her  dismay,  when,  on  passing  around 
the  point  of  the  mountain,  she  came  upon  a  group 
of  soldiers,  apparently  lying  in  wait.  With  sicken 
ing  fear,  she  recognized  in  them  the  ill-favored  fel 
lows  she  had  seen  in  the  store  at  New  Windsor. 

She  hesitated,  and  was  about  to  turn  back ; 
but  they,  with  devilish  cunning,  seemed  to  give  her 
no  heed. 

"  I  have  naught  to  do  with  them,  nor  they  with 
me,"  she  thought;  "  and  no  doubt  they  will  let  me 
pass  without  a  word." 

Indeed,  they  moved  out  toward  the  middle  of  the 
river,  as  if  intending  to  pursue  their  way  without 
regard  to  her.  This  gave  Vera  renewed  hope,  and 
the  chance  to  keep  near  the  shore  as  she  desired. 

When  she  reached  a  point  where  the  mountain 
shelved  perpendicularly  down  to  the  water,  render 
ing  its  ascent  impossible,  they  turned  sharply  on 
her,  one  shouting  brutally, 

"  So  ho  !  ye're  the  white  witch  o'  the  mountains, 
are  ye  ?  But  the  divil  himself  can't  help  ye  now, 
'less  ye  fly  up  the  rocks." 

Vera  gave  the  precipice  a  despairing  glance :  even 
ohe  could  not  scale  it.  There  was  no  chance  for 
aught  save  flight ;  and,  for  a  few  moments,  she  made 


254 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


desperate  efforts  to  escape,  once  or  twice  barely 
eluding  a  grimy,  outstretched  hand. 

Notwithstanding  her  wonderfully  quick  move 
ments,  and  the  abrupt  turns  which  she  was  able  to 
make  on  the  smooth  ice  by  the  aid  of  her  staff, 
they  were  gradually  hemming  her  in  toward  the 
bluff.  A  few  yards  to  the  south,  and  near  the  land, 
she  saw  a  small  air-hole  with  open  water,  and  at 
once  formed  the  desperate  purpose  to  lead  her  pur 
suers  so  near  it  that  they  would  fall  in  ;  or  else,  if 
failing  in  that,  to  find,  herself,  a  refuge  in  death  be 
neath  the  ice.  She  ran  to  its  perilous  edge,  and 
then,  by  means  of  her  staff,  turned  short  toward 
the  shore.  Her  nearest  pursuer  was  so  intent  on 
grasping  his  victim,  that  he  did  not  see  the  danger 
in  time,  and  fell  in. 

This  created  a  diversion  in  favor  of  Vera,  and  two 
of  her  pursuers  stopped  to  help  their  comrades,  but 
the  remaining  three  were  adjured,  with  oaths  and 
curses,  to  "  head  her  off  up  agin  the  mountain." 

"  May  the  divil  fly  away  with  me  if  I  don't  be 
lieve  she  is  a  witch,"  cried  one  of  the  ruffians. 

Vera  had  now  reached  a  place  where  there  was  a 
break  in  the  precipice  facing  the  river,  the  rock 
making  a  sharp  angle,  and  receding  from  the  water  a 
few  feet ;  and  then  it  made  another  angle  and  trended 
away  toward  the  southwest,  leaving  an  increasingly 
wide  margin  between  the  precipitous  bluff  and  the 
river.  Despairing  of  escape  on  the  ice,  Vera  had 
the  hope  that  by  springing  ashore  she  could  make 
her  way  along  this  margin,  and  so  up  among  the 
hills. 


THE    WHITE    WITCH  OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.      255 

I 
But  the  tide  was  out,  and  huge  cakes  of  ice  were 

piled  among  the  rocks  where  she  attempted  to  reach 
the  land  ;  slipping  on  one  of  these,  she  fell,  and  was 
delayed,  seemingly,  a  fatal  moment.  Two  of  the 
men  sprang  ashore  south  of  her,  thus  cutting  off 
escape  along  the  base  of  the  cliffs,  while  one  stood 
on  the  ice  behind  her. 

"We've  got  her  now!"  they  cried,  with  horrid 
joy ;  "  she's  just  druv  into  a  corner  o'  the  rocks,  and 
must  go  through  'em  to  get  away." 

"  Two  on  ye  keep  her  there,  then,  and  t'other 
come  and  help  us  git  Barney  out.  I'm  afeerd  he'll 
droon.  The  cussed  ice  breaks  wid  us,  and  he's 
gittin'  could  and  numb-loike." 

Vera  gave  a  swift  glance  and  a  sobbing  prayer  to 
Heaven,  and  then  turned  toward  the  granite  rocks 
that  beetled  above  her  head,  to  see  if  there  was  the 
faintest  possibility  of  escape.  With  a  thrill  of  hope, 
she  saw  crevices  in  the  inner  angle  of  the  rock,  and 
from  one  of  these,  far  above  her  head,  a  bush  was 
growing.  Here  was  her  only  chance.  Availing 
herself  of  the  moment's  respite  given  by  her  pur 
suers  in  their  solicitude  for  their  half-drowned 
companion,  she  planted  her  long  staff  among  the 
loose  stones,  and,  by  its  aid,  steadied  herself  up 
the  almost  perpendicular  rock,  till  she  reached  the 
bush.  It  bore  her  weight,  and  seemed  like  a  helping 
hand.  Fear  lent  her  wings,  and,  by  the  aid  of  the 
shrubbery,  she  reached  a  point  not  quite  so  steep, 
where  the  angle  in  the  precipice  turned  off  toward 
the  river  somewhat,  and  she  was  able  to  climb  with 
more  security  and  hope. 


256  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

All  this  had  transpired  in  a  moment  of  time, 
while  the  eyes  of  the  ruffians  had  been  turned  toward 
the  one  of  their  number  struggling  in  the  water. 
Having  pulled  him,  more  dead  than  alive,  out  upon 
the  ice,  they  made  a  rush  for  their  victim,  when,  to 
their  unbounded  amazement,  they  saw  her,  far  above 
their  heads,  ascending  what  seemed,  from  their  point 
of  view,  the  perpendicular  face  of  the  rock.  For  a 
moment  they  could  only  stare  in  their  wonder. 
Then  one  of  the  men  whipped  out  a  pistol. 

"  Don't  fire !  "  cried  another,  "  for  if  the  divil 
hain't  carryin'  her  up,  she'll  fall ;  an'  if  he  is,  the 
ball'll  come  back  and  kill  yerself." 

Fortunately  this  sage  advice  was  taken,  and,  a 
second  later,  Vera  had  followed  the  angle  in  the 
rocks  to  the  summit  of  the  precipice,  and  was  at 
least  fifty  feet  above  their  heads.  From  this  point 
the  ascent  was  easier  and  safer,  although  still  very 
difficult  and  dangerous.  As  every  moment  she 
mounted  higher,  scaling  places  that  appeared  im 
passable,  a  superstitious  dread  crept  over  them,  and 
they  slunk  off  with  muttered  curses  to  the  opposite 
shore  of  the  river,  leaving  the  basket  where  Vera 
had  dropped  it.  The  angels  that  had  charge  over 
her,  lest  she  should  dash  her  foot  against  a  stone, 
were,  to  their  besotted  minds,  evil  spirits,  though 
certainly  less  malignant  than  themselves. 

As  she  saw  them  depart,  she  sat  down  on  a  shelf 
of  rock,  panting  and  exhausted.  Night  was  near, 
the  sky  overcast,  and  the  snow  whirling  through  the 
air.  The  great  mountain  of  "  Cro'  Nest  "  rose  be 
tween  her  and  the  cabin,  while,  from  the  wide  rugged 


THE    WHITE    WITCH  OF   THE  HIGHLANDS. 

valley  that  she  must  cross,  came  the  roar  of  the  wind 
in  the  forest.  She  thought  not  of  these  dangers, 
however,  in  her  unbounded  gratitude  for  what  seemed 
an  almost  miraculous  escape.  There  on  the  bleak 
mountain-side  she  knelt,  and  poured  out  her  heart 
to  God.  In  answer,  there  came  to  her  a  feeling  of 
safety,  a  sense  of  being  guarded,  which  she  never 
had  before.  With  a  distinctness  which  made  them 
seem  as  if  spoken,  the  inspired  words  came  into  her 
mind,  "  Fear  not  thou,  for  I  am  with  thee  :  Be  not 
dismayed  ;  for  1  im  thy  God  :  I  will  strengthen 
thee  ;  yea,  I  will  help  thee ;  yea,  I  will  uphold  thee 
with  the  right  hand  of  my  righteousness." 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  stretching  out  her  arms  toward 
heaven,  "  Oh  that  God  would  take  me  home  to 
mother  now!  Why  must  I  descend  into  this  dark 
and  stormy  valley?  " 

Again  the  voice  whispered  in  the  depths  of  her 
soul,  "  The  Lord  is  thy  keeper:  The  Lord  shall  pre 
serve  thee  from  all  evil :  He  shall  preserve  thy  soul." 
"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be 
afraid." 

With  a  feeling  of  resignation  and  trust,  to  which 
she  had  long  been  a  stranger,  she  set  out  on  her 
journey  of  several  miles  through  a  rugged  and  un 
broken  wilderness..  Her  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
mountains  enabled  her  to  go  toward  her  home  .with 
as  much  directness  as  the  almost  impassable  region 
permitted,  even  in  the  gathering  darkness  ;  but  it  was 
night  before  she  descended  the  hills  that  sloped  to 
ward  the  cabin.  She  began  to  think  that  her  strength 
would  fail,  and  that  after  all  she  might  perish  ;  but, 


258  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

in  her  weariness  and  loneliness,  the  thought  brought 
peace  instead  of  fear.  Mechanically  she  tottered 
on,  scarcely  conscious  from  exhaustion,  until  she 
reached  the  valley  where  stood  her  home.  Summon 
ing  all  her  failing  energies  she  tried  to  gain  its  door, 
but  in  vain.  The  utmost  limit  of  endurance  had 
been  reached,  but,  as  her  last  effort,  before  sinking  on 
the  ground  in  unconsciousness,  she  cried, 
"Father!  Gula!" 


THE  BLACK   WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"THE  BLACK  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS." 

V ERA'S  absence  had  not  caused  much  anxiety 
to  the  inmates  of  the  cabin.  They  were  both 
so  wrapped  up  in  their  own  strange  fancies  that 
they  could  think  of  little  else,  and  it  was  not  un 
usual  for  her  to  return  from  hunting  expeditions 
after  nightfall.  They  were  so  preoccupied  that 
neither  of  them  noticed  that  the  light  fowling-piece 
was  in  its  accustomed  place. 

Throughout  the  entire  day,  Gula  imagined  she 
had  been  hearing  voices,  and  even  the  winter's  cold 
did  not  prevent  her  from  leaving  the  door  of  her 
little  kitchen  open,  that  they  might  be  more  dis 
tinct.  While  busy  in  preparing  as  good  a  supper 
for  Vera  as  a  very  meagre  larder  permitted,  she 
would  often  go  to  the  door,  and  listen  intently,  not 
for  the  footsteps  of  the  young  girl,  but  for  the 
strange  echoes  that,  in  her  disordered  mind,  came 
from  her  tropical  home. 

And  she  was  thus  listening,  when  Vera's  cry- 
reached  her.  In  great  excitement  she  said, 

"  Dare,  dare,  dat  a  voice  sure.  P'raps  I'se  gwine 
home  to-night.  I'se  a-coming,"  and  she  hobbled 
down  the  glen  as  fast  as  her  age  permitted,  till  her 


26o  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

feet  struck  against  the  poor  girl's  unconscious  body. 
Stooping  down,  she  felt  of  the  unexpected  obstacle, 
and  then,  in  a  shrill  scream,  called, 

"  Mas'r  Brown,  come  quick!  Missy  Vera  'pears 
like  she's  dead." 

The  father  hastened  to  the  spot,  and  between 
them  they  bore  her  into  the  cabin. 

"  Is  she  dead  ? "  asked  the  man  in  a  husky 
whisper. 

"  Dunno ;  allers  been  afeard  she'd  git  home  afore 
me.  De  strong  stuff  in  dis  bottle  did  her  mudder 
good  ;  I'll  put  a  little  in  her  mouf,"  and  Gula  moist 
ened  Vera's  lips  with  the  remnant  of  the  brandy, 
and  was  comforted  by  seeing  the  spasmodic  effort  to 
swallow. 

"  She  was  a'most  home,"  soliloquized  Gula ;  "  and 
it's  orful  cruel  in  me  to  bring  her  back;  but  I 
couldn't  let  her  go  afore  me." 

"  O  God  !  if  there  is  a  God !  save  my  child !  " 
cried  the  father  in  agony.  "  What  have  I  become, 
to  leave  her  so  exposed?"  and  he  bent  over  her  in 
remorseful  terror. 

Slowly  Vera  revived  to  consciousness,  and  was  at 
last  able  to  give  them  a  smile  of  recognition. 

"Where  have  you  been?  What  has  happened?" 
asked  her  father  eagerly. 

She  shuddered,  shook  her  head,  and  said  faintly, 
"  Not  now.  I  can't  tell  you  now." 

At  Gula's  urgent  request,  she  took  a  little  food 
and  some  more  of  the  brandy,  and  then  sank  into  a 
deep  sleep,  which  lasted  until  the  sun  was  shining 
into  the  casement.  On  awaking,  she  found  her 


THE   BLACK    WITCH   OF    THE  HIGHLANDS.       26l 

father  watching  her  with  the  most  intense  anxiety. 
In  the  hope  of  arousing  him  from  his  morbid  condi 
tion,  she  told  him  the  truth,  and  the  last  remnants 
of  the  man  and  parent  flashed  up  in  his  soul. 

His  face  became  ashen  in  its  hue,  and  again  he 
exclaimed  in  agony,  "  Great  God !  what  have  I  be 
come  ?" 

Then  he  seized  his  rifle,  and  started  for  the  scene 
of  Vera's  peril,  with  the  half-crazed  hope  of  finding 
her  assailants  still  there.  After  a  time  he  returned 
with  Vera's  basket,  and  commenced  restlessly  pacing 
the  cabin  floor,  muttering  deep  curses  on  the  caitiffs 
who  were  beyond  the  reach  jf  his  vengeance, 

'*  Father,"  said  Vera  piteously,  "  won't  you  take 
care  of  us  ?  won't  you  be  your  old  self,  as  I  remem 
ber  you  when  a  little  child  ?  It  may  be  long  be 
fore  I  am  able  to  go  out  again,  and  I  ought  not 
to  go  at  all." 

"  I  will,  my  child,  I  will,"  he  replied.  "  Would 
to  God  I  had  never  been  born  !  " 

"  O  father!  be  a  brave  man.  Do  as  Mr.  Saville 
wished,  and  all  will  yet  be  well." 

"  I  will,  my  child ;  I  will  remove  you  and  Gula  to 
a  place  of  safety,  and  then  join  the  army." 

"  Act  now,  father,  act  at  once." 

"  I  will— soon." 

For  a  few  days  he  made  desperate  efforts  to 
throw  off  the  incubus  that  was  crushing  body  and 
mind,  and  supplied  the  household  with  abundance 
of  game. 

After  a  few  days  of  perfect  rest,  Vera's  health 
ful  frame  quite  recovered  from  its  terrible  strain ; 


262  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

but  there  remained  in  her  eyes  a  troubled,  fright 
ened  expression.  Her  mind  was  constantly  dwell 
ing  on  the  strange  epithet  that  the  ruffians  had  ap 
plied  to  her.  Why  did  they  call  her  the  "  white  witch 
of  the  Highlands  ?  "  and  what  did  they  mean  by  this 
term  ?  A  vague  sense  of  danger  oppressed  her,  and 
a  fear  lest  their  seclusion  was  causing  people  to  im 
agine  evil  concerning  them. 

This  surmise  was  not  long  in  being  verified,  for 
spring  had  scarcely  opened,  before  an  officer  with  a 
squad  of  men  marched  to  their  door  one  morning. 

"  I  wish  to  see  a  man  named  Brown,"  was  the 
prompt  request. 

Nerving  himself  for  an  ordeal  that  was  terrible, 
her  father  came  to  the  door,  and  said  haughtily, 

"  I  am  he." 

"  I  am  directed,  sir,  to  inform  you  that  you  are 
suspected  of  .disloyalty  to  the  American  cause,  and 
of  being  in  the  employ  of  the  enemy.  As  there  are 
no  definite  charges  against  you,  and  as  Mr.  Saville 
once  spoke  in  your  favor,  you  are  not  to  be  arrested 
on  this  occasion ;  but  your  presence  is  no  longer  de 
sired  in  the  vicinity  of  the. forts,  and  it  is  requested 
that  you  leave  this  region  before  the  campaign 
opens.  If  after  two  weeks  you  are  here  and  can 
give  no  satisfactory  account  of  yourself,  you  will  be 
arrested  and  put  in  confinement." 

The  terrified  man  could  scarcely  retain  sufficient 
composure  to  bow  in  silent  acquiescence  ;  but,  as  the 
officer  was  turning  away,  Vera  exclaimed, 

"  Indeed,  sir,  we  are  loyal.  You  do  my  father  in 
justice." 


THE  BLACK   WITCH  OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.     263 

"  Let  him  be  prompt  in  proving  it  then,"  was  the 
stern  response ;  then  came  the  word  of  command, 
"  Right  about  face  ;  march,"  and  they  were  gone. 

Vera  thought  that  she  recognized  among  the  sol 
diers  the  malignant  face  of  the  wretch  who  had 
narrowly  escaped  drowning  in  his  reckless  pursuit  of 
her  upon  the  ice.  She  was  right.  At  first,  the 
ruffians  had  kept  quiet,  fearing  lest  Vera  should 
report  their  conduct,  and  they  be  severely  dealt 
with.  But  the  man  in  question  vowed  vengeance, 
and  was  so  besotted  in  his  egotism  and  depravity  as 
to  feel  that  he  had  good  cause  to  punish  one  who,  in 
escaping  his  brutality,  had  involved  him  in  great 
peril. 

He  was  one  of  Captain  Molly's  satellites,  and  she 
had  soon  beguiled  from  hi'm  the  story,  but  embel 
lished  and  changed  somewhat  to  suit  their  interests. 
The  worst  of  villains  do  not  like  to  portray  them 
selves  in  their  true  colors. 

"  She  is  a  witch,  indade,"  concluded  the  irate 
ruffian  ;  "  for  nary  a  one  that  the  divil  didn't  help 
could  have  walked  right  up  straight  rocks.  But,  by 
the  holy  poker,  I'll  pay  her  off  for  that  drooningshe 
guv  me." 

The  story  of  Vera's  scaling  the  precipice  spread 
rapidly  among  the  ignorant  and  superstitious  mem 
bers  of  the  garrison,  over  whom  Molly  ruled,  and 
became  positive  proof  that  the  innocent  maiden,  as 
well  as  old  Gula,  was  in  close  league  with  the  Evil 
One. 

"  Let  us  go  over  and  roast  them  out  some  day," 
was  a  proposal  often  made,  and  once  or  twice  in 


264  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

danger  of  being  carried  out ;  for  the  discipline  of 
the  fort  was  not  severe,  and  the  men  were  often 
permitted  to  be  absent. 

But  Molly  was  shrewd  enough  to  counsel  pru 
dence.  Larry  had  cautioned  her  that  Saville  was 
the  "  very  divil  himself "  when  angry,  and  she  re 
membered  his  threat.  Though  she  had  not  seen  or 
heard  anything  of  him  for  a  long  time,  he  might 
return.  Besides,  Molly,  although  capable  of  any 
amount  of  wicked  gossip,  had  too  much  humanity 
to  face  its  consequences.  She  liked  recklessly  to 
scatter  firebrands  and  arrows,  but  did  not  enjoy 
seeing  the  wounds  and  suffering ;  and  there  was 
woman  enough  in  her  nature  to  shrink  from  the 
deeds  of  cruelty  and  violence  which  she  foresaw 
would  occur,  did  the  vindictive  Barney  lead  a  band 
of  kindred  spirits  against  the  cabin.  So  she  tried 
to  satisfy  his  revenge  by  inducing  him  to  throw  out 
hints  that  "  Brown  was  a  Tory,  a-watchin*  the  gar 
risons."  This  story  the  officers  took  up  promptly, 
and  Barney  was  asked  for  definite  proof.  But  Molly 
had  told  him  not  to  say  anything  with  certainty, 
but  to  abound  in  suspicions  ;  so  the  authorities  con 
cluded  that,  as  there  had  been  considerable  doubt 
about  the  man,  they  would  compel  him  either  to 
join  the  service,  or  to  remove  from  a  region  where,  if 
he  were  so  inclined,  he  could  be  very  useful  to  the 
enemy.  Thus,  the  evil  consequences,  which  even 
the  dead  wife  had  foreseen,  occurred,  and  worse 
dangers  threatened. 

As  the  officer  departed  with  his  squad,  Vera 
turned  to  her  father  with  the  purpose  of  entreating 


THE  BLACK    WITCH  OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.       26$ 

him  to  follow  at  once,  and  enlist  in  the  army.  But, 
after  one  glance,  all  hope  died.  It  almost  appeared 
as  if  he  were  shrinking  and  shriveling  away.  He 
tottered  back  to  his  dusky  corner,  as  seemingly 
scarce  able  to  walk.  In  a  trembling  whisper,  he  said, 

"  Vera,  we  must  fly  at  once." 

"  Fly  where  ?  "  she  answered  desperately.  "  Are 
we  birds,  that  we  can  take  wing  in  a  moment,  and 
live  without  shelter  ?  O  God !  is  Thy  mercy  clean 
gone  forever  ?  " 

"  There  isn't  any  God,"  said  her  father  with  sudden 
and  vindictive  passion  ;  "  there  is  only  a  devil.  Wit 
ness  my  wife's  grave  yonder  ;  witness  your  unmer 
ited  suffering ;  and,  chief  of  all,  witness  myself.  I 
dare  not  live — I  dare  not  die.  I  have  but  one  vile 
impulse,  and  that  is  to  hide  ;  and  hide  I  will,  where 
no  human  eye  shall  see  me  again.  I  know  of  a  wild 
gorge  in  these  mountains  that  I  believe  untrodden 
by  any  foot  save  mine.  Before  your  mother  died, 
I  built  a  hut  there  for  a  refuge,  if  the  worst  came 
to  the  worst.  Last  fall  I  repaired  it,  and  made  it 
stronger.  No  one  knows  of  its  existence,  for  this 
is  the  first  that  I  have  spoken  of  it.  Come  ;  we  will 
go  at  once." 

Vera  sank  into  a  chair,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  As  he  saw  her  grief,  he  relented  some 
what,  and  said, 

"  Well,  we  will  not  go  till  to-morrow.  They  gave 
us  a  little  time." 

"  If  we  are  to  go,  let  us  go  at  once,"  said  Vera 
despairingly.  "  But  is  there  no  way  out  of  this  dark 
ness,  no  escape  from  this  terrible  isolation  which 
12 


266  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

is  destroying  us  all  ?  I  fear  I  shall  go  mad  my 
self." 

"  No,"  said  her  father,  with  the  gloom  of  the  most 
hopeless  fatalism  in  his  tone  and  manner;  •"  there  is 
no  escape,  and  there  is  darkness  all  the  way  on  for 
ever  more.  You  are  in  the  grip  of  the  same  awful 
destiny  as  myself.  I  am  mad,  and  the  worst  of  it 
is,  I  know  that  I  am.  I  can  see  my  mad  self,  and 
can  see  my  former  and  nobler  self  when  I  was  sane, 
and  all  day  and  all  night  I  sit  and  compare  the  two. 
I  expect  you  will  become  like  me,  for  I  have  been  a 
curse  to  myself  and  all  bound  to  me.  But  I  will  go 
where  I  can  never  see  another  soul,  and  the  curse 
will  die  out  with  us." 

"  But,  father,  have  you  no  pity  for  me  ?  " 

"  Pity !  I  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
Don't  I  know  that  we  are  both  in  hell  ?  I  shall  pity 
you  forever,  but  what  good  will  that  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hush!"  said  Vera,  shuddering.  "Say  no 
more." 

Until  late  that  night,  she  prayed  and  questioned 
God  as  to  her  duty.  Would  it  not  be.  better  to  go 
to  the  commander  of  the  garrison,  and,  throwing 
herself  on  his  mercy,  declare  that  her  father  was  no 
longer  responsible  for  his  actions  ?  And  yet  each 
time  she  had  sought  to  make  her  way  alone  out  into 
the  world,  she  had  been  met  by  experiences  that 
caused  her  womanly  nature  to  shrink  with  Inex 
pressible  fear. 

"  Is  there  only  one  true,  kind  man  in  the  world?" 
she  groaned  in  bitterness. 

At  last,  she  concluded  that  her  father,  in  his  pres- 


THE  BLACK  WITCH  OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.       26/ 

ent  mood,  would  not  remain  near  the  dwellings  of 
others ;  and  that,  if  she  tried  to  compel  him  to  do 
so,  he  would  wander  off  by  himself,  and  perish  in  the 
forest.  She  also  saw  the  difficulty  of  accounting 
for  his  condition  of  mind,  for,  as  he  said,  he  was 
both  sane  and  insane.  It  would  become  evident  to 
all  that  his  gloom,  fear,  and  remorse  had  their  dark 
source  in  guilt  of  some  kind.  He  would  not  ex 
plain;  she  could  not;  and  thus  mystery  and  her 
twin  sister,  suspicion,  would  ever  follow  them  with 
pointing  ringers,  till  even  she  might  be  glad  to  hide 
in  the  depths  of  the  mountains. 

She  recalled  her  mother's  words  in  regard  to  her 
father :  "  You  will  have  to  be  his  guardian  and  pro 
tector  more  truly  than  he  yours.  Be  very  tender 
and  patient  with  him  for  my  sake/' 

"  I  will  go  with  him  to  his  mountain-gorge,"  con 
cluded  she,  "  although  it  is  the  same  as  being  buried 
alive.  Mr.  Saville  will  never  find  me  there,  and  I 
have  now,  in  sad  truth,  lost  my  only  friend." 

Again  a  comforting  and  reassuring  voice  spoke  in 
the  depths  of  her  soul,  "  Commit  thy  way  unto  the 
Lord ;  trust  also  in  Him ;  and  He  shall  bring  it  to 
pass." 

There  sprang  up  a  sudden  hopefulness  within  her 
heart,  that  God,  in  His  own  time  and  way,  would 
break  down  the  barriers  that  rose  between  them  and 
their  own  kind,  and  that  He  would  guide  Saville  to 
their  hidden  retreat.  An  impression,  which  soon 
became  a  conviction,  that  it  would  be  best  and  safest 
to  leave  all  to  Him,  brought  rest  to  her  mind,  and  she 
slept  until  her  father  summoned  her  in  the  morning. 


268  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

After  an  early  meal,  they  made  up  two  packages, 
containing  tools,  bedding,  some  food,  and  cooking 
utensils,  and  taking  their  guns,  started  for  the  se 
cluded  hut,  which,  after  all,  was  not  so  distant  as  it 
was  inaccessible,  and  apart  from  all  the  mountain 
roads  and  paths.  It  was  their  plan  to  spend  two  or 
three  days  in  repairing  and  putting  it  in  the  best 
condition  possible,  before  removing  thither  old  Gula 
and  the  household  furniture. 

But,  in  their  absence,  the  elements  of  evil  were  at 
work,  and  poor,  pagan  Gula  had  another  experience 
with  Christians,  upon  whose  profane  lips  was  con 
tinually  the  name  of  the  God  whom  she  had  learned 
to  associate  with  deeds  of  fiendish  cruelty. 

The  ruffian,  Barney,  had  accompanied  the  officer, 
and  heard  the  order  which  would  soon  make  the 
little  cabin  tenantless.  But  this  did  not  satisfy  his 
malignant  spirit ;  and  so,  one  afternoon,  when  heated 
with  liquor,  he  proposed  to  a  few  kindred  villains 
that  they  should  go  and  hurry  the  departure  of  the 
witches.  By  reason  of  their  superstitious  fears,  the 
others  were  rather  reluctant ;  but  he  stimulated 
them  up  to  the  reckless  point  by  fiery  potations 
from  a  stolen  bottle  of  rum.  They  doubted  Captain 
Molly's  acquiescence  in  their  action,  and  so  did  not 
inform  her ;  but,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  obtained 
a  brief  leave  of  absence  from  their  officers. 

It  was  quite  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they 
reached  the  vicinity  of  the  cabin.  They  approached 
warily,  for  Brown  had  the  reputation  of  being  savage 
and  dangerous.  At  last  they  made  a  rush  for  the 
two  doors,  having  already  had  experience  of  Vera's 


THE  BLACK    WITCH  OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.      269 

quickness  in  flight.  But,  to  their  surprise,  not  a  soul 
was  to  be  seen.  They  looked  cautiously  in  every 
place  where  one  could  be  concealed  in  the  main 
room  and  kitchen,  with  their  weapons  ready,  but 
there  was  no  trace  of  their  victims.  Then  Barney 
and  two  others  of  the  most  reckless  of  the  gang 
went  up  the  covered  way  to  Vera's  little  room ;  and 
beastly  satyrs  of  Grecian  myth,  in  the  grotto  of  a 
nymph,  could  not  have  appeared  more  hideous  and 
devilish  than  these  caitiffs  in  that  refuge  of  maidenly 
purity  and  beauty.  Again,  in  after  days,  with  a 
gratitude  beyond  words,  Vera  thanked  God  that  she 
was  absent.  Her  filial  loyalty  to  her  father  had 
brought  unspeakable  reward. 

The  ruffians  were  now  convinced  that  the  occu 
pants  of  the  cabin  had  fled,  and  with  sacriligious 
hands  they  destroyed,  pillaged,  and  defaced,  till  their 
attention  was  diverted  by  a  loud  shout  from  one  of 
their  number  who  had  ascended  the  ladder  to  peer 
into  the  little  loft.  Here  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Gula,  cowering  in  the  remotest  corner,  and  was  now, 
in  brutal  glee,  dragging  her  down  to  his  companions, 
who  with  oaths  and  imprecations  gathered  around. 

The  aged  negress,  speechless  and  paralyzed  with 
terror,  was  as  limp  and  nonresisting  in  their  hands 
as  if  dead ;  turning,  as  the  only  evidence  of  life,  her 
wild,  horror-dilated  eyes  from  one  to  another  of  her 
persecutors,  who  were  to  her  so  many  torturing 
fiends. 

"  Where  is  the  other  she-divil  ?  where  is  the 
white  witch  o'  the  Highlands?"  demanded  Barney. 
"  Speak,  or  we'll  make  ye  swallow  coals  o*  fire." 


2/Q  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

But  Gula's  unearthly  stare  was  his  only  answer. 

"  Tie  her  to  the  tree  there,  or  the  divil  may  carry 
her  off  in  spite  o'  us ; "  and  they  hustled  the  poor 
creature  out,  and  did  his  bidding,  Gula  making  no 
resistance,  and  uttering  not  a  sound. 

"  Now  take  what  ye  want,  and  thin  set  fire  to 
that  divil's  nest  o'  witches,"  continued  Barney,  who, 
by  common  consent,  was  leader  in  the  outrage. 

Gula's  eyes  dilated  with  increasing  terror,  as  she 
saw  the  cabin  speedily  wrapped  in  flames.  Then 
the  demons  gathered  round  her,  and  Barney  com 
menced, 

"  Now,  ye  ould  black  hag  o'  Satan,  tell  me  where 
the  white  witch  is  a-hidin',  or  I'll  roast  the  flesh  off 
yer  bones." 

But  Gula  only  turned  upon  him  her  horror-stricken 
stare. 

He  seized  a  firebrand,  and  held  it  scorchingly 
near  her  hand.  She  writhed,  but  would  not  speak. 

"  Here,  boys,  git  some  dhry  sticks,  and  put  'em 
around  her  feet.  Ye'll  see  how  blue  she'll  burn." 

"  Hold  on,  Barney,"  said  the  others  ;  "  don't  let  us 
go  too  far.  Her  looks'll  haunt  us  all  our  days 
now." 

With  loud  curses  on  their  cowardice,  the  drunken 
wretch  began  to  carry  out  his  fiendish  cruelty  him 
self. 

Gula  at  last  seemed  to  realize  that  she  might  be 
near  to  death,  which  to  her  meant  return  to  kindred 
and  rude  regality  in  her  far-away  home,  and  she 
suddenly  broke  the  silence,  thus  far  maintained,  by 
a  weird,  shrill  cry  of  ecstasy, 


THE  BLACK   WITCH  OF   THE  HIGHLANDS.       2J I 

1  De  voices,  de  voices !  I'se  hear  you  plain.  I'se 
a-comin'  now,  sure." 

The  ruffians  started  back  aghast. 

"  What  voices  ?"  demanded  Barney. 

A  piercing  shriek  from  the  hill  west  of  them  was 
the  answer.  Then  the  report  of  a  rifle  rang  out,  and 
Barney  fell  dead  at  his  victim's  feet,  with  a  bullet 
through  his  cruel  heart. 

His  companions  turned  in  precipitate  flight,  but 
another  yelled  with  pain  as  the  contents  of  Vera's 
gun  reached  them. 

Marking  the  course  of  their  flight  with  blood,  they 
reached  their  boat  half  dead  from  fright  and  bruises, 
and,  crossing  to  the  garrison,  told  a  terrible  story  of 
Tory  outrage.  A  strong  party  was  sent  over  imme 
diately  to  arrest  Brown  and  the  "  Tory  horde  "  that 
was  declared  to  be  with  him  ;  but  nothing  was  found 
save  the  smoking  embers  of  the  cabin,  and  the  dead 
body  of  the  ruffian  Barney,  which  was  brought  over 
to  the  island  and  buried. 

From  what  he  saw,  however,  the  officer  in  charge 
of  the  expedition  suspected  that  there  might  be  two 
sides  to  the  story,  as  Barney  and  his  companions 
were  known  to  belong  to  that  human  scum  which 
always  exists  in  every  army.  Beyond  some  effort 
made  to  discover  whether  Brown  still  frequented  his 
old  haunts,  nothing  further  was  done,  and  the  affair 
was  soon  forgotten  in  the  excitement  of  the  open 
ing  campaign. 


NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

A  DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY. 

OUR  story  now  passes  over  an  interval  of  several 
months.     The  autumn  winds  of  early  Septem 
ber  were  again  prophesying  of  winter  among  the 
Highlands;   but    only   in   plaintive   suggestion,  for 
summer  yet  lingered  in  their  mild  breath. 

As  the  sun  was  sinking  low  in  the  west,  on  a  cer 
tain  afternoon,  a  form,  that  could  scarcely  be  recog 
nized  as  that  of  Vera,  were  it  not  for  the  old  wealth 
of  golden  hair — but  uncovered  now  by  the  jaunty 
plumage  of  the  snowy  heron — might  have  been  seen 
stealing  through  the  defiles  of  the  hills  toward  the 
river,  A  painful  timidity  characterized  her  move 
ments,  and  she  seemed  to  fear  her  own  shadow. 
There  were  traces  of  suffering  and  almost  famine 
on  her  sunburnt  face,  and  in  her  deep  blue  eyes  an 
expression  akin  to  that  of  some  helpless  animal  that 
had  been  hunted  almost  to  the  death.  Her  dress 
was  in  tatters,  and  would  not  much  longer  conceal 
her  thin  form.  Instead  of  shoes,  rudely  constructed 
sandals  of  buckskin  protected  her  feet.  Her  frame 
appeared  shrunken  and  somewhat  feeble,  and  yet, 
as  if  impelled  by  a  powerful  motive,  she  made  her 


A  DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY.  273 

way  rapidly,  although  furtively,  along  a  path  which 
no  one  save  herself  could  follow. 

As  she  reached  the  vicinity  of  her  old  home,  her 
approach  became  more  cautious  and  stealthy.  She 
flitted,  like  some  timid  creature  of  the  forest,  from 
cover  to  cover,  till  she  could  look  out  unperceived 
on  the  little  glen  made  dear  by  so  many  memories. 

The  first  object  that  her  eyes  dwelt  on  was  the 
grave  of  her  mother,  and  she  seemed  to  dread  lest, 
among  the  sad  changes  occurring,  it  might  also  have 
disappeared.  But  the  mound  was  untrampled,  and 
the  flowers  she  had  planted  near  were  still  growing. 
As  the  glen  seemed  as  lonely  as  her  own  life,  she 
ventured  from  the  thicket  to  the  shade  of  the  elm, 
where  rose  the  grassy  mound.  A  visit  to  this  grave 
had  become  the  poor  child's  best  earthly  solace,  and 
the  nearest  approach  to  comforting  companionship 
within  her  reach.  There  was  no  one  in  her  dreary 
home  to  whom  she  could  speak  of  the  sorrows  that 
were  crushing  out  hope  and  life ;  but  here  she  could 
imagine,  at  least,  that  her  mother  listened  to  her  as 
in  the  past. 

Becoming  satisfied  that  she  was  alone  in  the 
sacred  place,  her  furtive,  apprehensive  manner 
passed  away,  and  she  gave  herself  wholly  to  the 
tender  memories  naturally  inspired.  Leaning  her 
head  on  the  grave,  as  she  had  upon  her  mother's 
bosom  when  a  child,  she  spoke  of  past  scenes  in 
tones  that  would  have  touched  the  most  callous. 
Her  sentences  were  fragmentary,  mere  indices  of 
passing  thoughts.  From  them  it  would  seem  that 
her  hope  of  meeting  Saville  again  had  almost  per- 
12* 


274 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


ished,  but  that  her  recollection  of  his  kindness  was 
of  such  a  character  as  to  be  in  harmony  with  the 
sacred  memories  of  her  mother. 

At  last,  with  a  weary  sigh,  she  saw,  from  the  deep 
ening  shadows  in  the  glen,  that  night  must  be  near. 
She  clasped  the  cold  earth  of  the  mound  in  close 
embrace.  She  was  indeed  orphaned  and  alone,  when 
the  pressure  of  her  heart  against  a  grass-grown  grave 
could  give  more  comfort  than  aught  else. 

When  about  to  rise,  she  heard  footsteps,  and  she 
hastily  stole  into  the  thicket  from  which  she  had 
first  issued,  and  which  would  cover  her  flight  back 
to  the  hills.  But,  though  almost  fainting  with  alarm — 
such  had  become  her  weakness  of  mind  and  body — a 
faint  hope  stayed  her  fleet  steps  till  she  could  obtain 
one  glimpse  of  the  intruder. 

There  was  something  in  the  distant  outline  of  the 
tall  form  that  was  strangely  familiar.  But,  as  the 
stranger's  rapid  advance  revealed  his  face,  she  sank 
upon  the  ground  overwhelmed  with  her  feelings.  It 
was,  indeed,  the  friend  and  brother  whom  she  had 
mourned  as  lost,  and  he  was  apparently  as  un 
changed  as  on  the  day  she  last  saw  him.  Was  his 
presence  actual,  or  was  it  merely  a  vision  of  her 
overwrought  and  morbid  mind  ?  She  scarcely  dared 
to  move  or  breathe,  and  feared  lest  the  wild  throb 
bing  of  her  heart  would  break  the  illusion. 

And  yet  he  was  so  real,  he  could  not  be  a  phan 
tom  ;  his  step  was  not  ghost-like,  but  struck  the 
ground  firmly. 

Now  she  saw  the  expression  of  his  face — the  per 
plexity — the  alarm,  the  trouble,  and  distress  depicted 


A   DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY.  2?$ 

there— as  the  desolation  of  the  glen  became  apparent. 
He  went  to  the  stone  step  that  had  led  to  the  thresh 
old  of  the  cabin,  and  peered  into  the  charred  ruins, 
as  if  he  dreaded  discovering  there  traces  of  its  in 
mates.  He  next  ascended  hurriedly  to  the  place 
where  Vera's  grotto-like  apartment  had  been,  but 
the  scrutiny  of  the  ashes  gave  no  confirmation  of 
the  fear  that  apparently  had  risen  in  his  mind. 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  passed  his  hand  across 
his  brow  and  eyes,  as  if  all  were  to  him  a  vision 
which  he  would  gladly  dispel.  He  looked  up 
and  down  the  glen  till  his  eye  rested  on  the  elm 
under  which  was  the  grave,  and  he  approached  it 
rapidly,  as  if  hoping  to  find  there  something  that 
would  lead  to  the  discovery  of  those  he  sought. 

"  She  must  be  living,"  he  said  aloud,  "  for  here 
are  the  proofs  of  her  care  and  taste.  Indeed,  from 
the  marks  upon  the  grass,  I  should  think  that  some 
one  had  been  here  to-day." 

Again  he  looked  up  and  down  the  glen,  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  something  or  some  one  that  could 
explain  the  mystery.  The  poor  girl,  who  was  but  a 
few  feet  away,  seemed  under  a  strange  paralysis. 
She  tried  to  speak,  but,  as  if  dreaming  in  very  truth, 
though  her  lips  moved,  there  was  no  sound. 

But,  as  Saville  sat  down  upon  a  rock,  and,  taking 
out  his  flute,  commenced  playing  the  same  dirge 
which  once  before  had  summoned  her  to  him  and 
kept  her  heart  from  breaking,  the  stony  spell  that 
bound  her  was  broken.  Tears  rushed  to  her  eyes. 

"  '  I  know  a  bank,' "  she  faltered  ;  then,  springing 
from  her  concealment,  she  knelt  at  his  feet,  as  one 


276  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

might  do  who  sought  deliverance  from  some  press 
ing  danger. 

"  Vera !  "  he  exclaimed,  raising  her  up.  "  My 
friend,  my  little  sister !  what  has  happened  ?  What 
has  changed  you  so  ?  " 

But,  for  some  moments,  her  tears  and  sobs  were 
his  only  answer.  He  gently  seated  her  on  a  rock 
beside  him,  and  held  her  hand,  while  stroking  her 
head  in  gentle  caresses,  accompanied  by  equally 
tender  and  soothing  words. 

"  My  poor  little  sister,  it  is  plain  that  much  has 
happened,  and  that  you  have  suffered  deeply,  since 
I  saw  you  last." 

"  But  thank  God,  thank  God  !  you  are  not  dead — 
you  have  not  forgotten  me,"  she  was  able  at  last  to 
say  brokenly. 

"  You  may  indeed  take  all  the  comfort  you  can 
out  of  these  facts,"  he  replied  cheeringly.  "  I  never 
had  a  better  prospect  of  living,  and  there  was  never 
less  danger  of  my  forgetting  you.  So  cease  your 
trembling,  little  one,  and  dry  your  tears.  I  am 
again  stationed  at  Fort  Montgomery,  and  can  see 
you  often,  as  in  old  times.  Now  tell  me  what  has 
happened — no,  first  tell  me  where  you  live,  for  it  is 
almost  night,  and  we  can  talk  on  our  way  thither." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Vera,  "  in  the  joy  of  seeing  you, 
I  have  forgotten  all  else.  The  wretched  little  hut, 
which  I  cannot  call  home,  is  miles  away.  You 
can't  go  with  me  there  ;  the  path  is  too  rough  and 
tangled  for  aught  save  a  mere  creature  of  the  forest, 
as  I  have  become." 

Then,  for  the  first  time  conscious  of  her  tattered 


A   DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY.  277 

and  forlorn  dress,  and  her  bare  and  brier-torn  ankles, 
she  turned  away  with  a  burning  blush,  and  said,  in  a 
low  tone, 

"  I  am  glad  night  is  near,  that  its  darkness  may 
cover  me.  I  wonder  at  your  kindness,  for  I  looked 
into  a  mirroring  pool  on  my  way  hither,  and  saw  my 
poor,  miserable  self  as  you  now  see  me.  What  must 
I  seem  to  you,  who  have  seen  the  best  of  the  world?" 

"  Vera,"  said  Saville  gravely,  "  did  not  your  mo 
ther,  when  living,  hope  that  I  might  become  your 
friend?" 

"Yes,"  said  Vera,  with  fast-falling  tears. 

"  That  hope  has  been  fulfilled  ;  but,  were  I  only  a 
casual  stranger,  what  else  could  1  feel  for  you,  in 
this  place,  and  by  this  grave,  but  the  deepest  sym 
pathy  ?  You  may  trust  me  then  without  fear  or 
embarrassment,  because  of  your  ragged  dress  and 
bruised  feet,  which  are  to  me  the  touching  proofs  of 
your  misfortunes.  There  are  no  stronger  claims 
than  those  of  humanity,  and  unconsciously  you  assert 
these  in  a  way  to  make  them  most  sacred.  I  feel 
that  you  are  committed  to  my  charge,  and  that  na 
ture  and  all-controlling  destiny  constitute  me  your 
brother  and  guardian.  So,  rest  assured,  you  shall 
lean  upon  my  arm  all  the  way  to  your  mountain 
hiding-place,  which,  I  fear,  is  little  better  than  the 
nests  of  the  birds,  which  are  open  to  the  sky." 

"  But  the  way  is  longer  than  you  think." 

"  Will  it  seem  shorter  to  you  without  me  ?  All 
the  more  reason  for  my  going.  Come,  little  sister  ; 
I  have  a  will  of  my  own,"  and  he  drew  her  hand 
within  his  arm. 


278  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

"  I  can  take  the  more  open  paths,  now  that  you 
are  with  me,"  she  said,  with  sudden  gladness  in  her 
tone. 

"Yes,  any  you  like.      I  will  take  care  of  you." 

With  a  sigh  of  intense  relief,  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh . 
what  a  comfort  it  is  not  to  be  oppressed  with  fear 
every  moment.  Constant  dread  was  becoming  a 
habit  of  my  mind,  as  it  is  with  father.  There  are 
such  cruel  and  terrible  men  in  the  world  ;  and  we 
are  so  helpless,  and  are  the  objects  of  so  much  sus 
picion,  that  concealment  and  flight  have  become  our 
only  safety ; "  and,  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child,  she 
told  him  of  her  own  and  Gula's  experience,  and  the 
burning  of  the  cabin. 

"  When  we  saw  the  smoke,"  she  said,  "  we  thought 
it  had  caught  fire  by  accident,  and  we  ran,  in  the 
hope  of  saving  something.  But  Gula's  cry,  and  the 
horrible  men's  rough  voices,  soon  led  us  to  fear  the 
worst.  I  was  afraid,  at  first,  that  father  would  leave 
old  Gula  to  her  fate,  for  often  he  is  so  strangely 
timid  ;  but,  for  a  few  moments,  he  seemed  like  an 
enraged  lion.  He  shot  the  leading  villain,  and  then, 
snatching  my  gun,  fired  again.  Only  their  rapid 
flight  kept  him  from  attacking  them  single-handed. 
He  seemed  to  think  they  were  the  same  ruffians 
that  tried  to  catch  me ;  and,  from  what  old  Gula 
said  afterward,  I  am  sure  they  were.  Ever  since, 
I  have  lived  in  a  state  of  terror  lest  they  should 
spring  out  upon  me." 

Her  tragic  story  was  often  interrupted  by  Saville's 
exclamations  of  pity  and  anger ;  and  when  she  de 
scribed  her  peril  upon  the  ice,  and  in  climbing  the 


A  DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY.  279 

precipice,    she   felt   his   arm   tremble    beneath   her 
hand. 

"  You  shall  be  amply  revenged,"  he  said  in  a  deep 
tone,  as  she  concluded. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  cried  pleadingly  ;  "  any  effort  to 
avenge  me  would  only  add  to  my  pain  and  fear. 
Please  make  these  'dreadful  men  understand  that 
father  is  loyal,  and  that  Gula  and  I  are  not  witches. 
How  came  they  ever  to  imagine  such  a  thing  about 
two  such  inoffensive  creatures  ?  " 

"  That's  the  cursed  quality  of  superstition,"  he 
muttered.  "  The  less  reason  and  cause,  the  more 
monstrous  and  bigoted  the  belief." 

"  You  can  never  know  all  I  have  suffered  of  late," 
she  said,  rinding  much  comfort  in  his  strongly  mani 
fested  sympathy.  "  We  often  do  not  have  enough 
to  eat,  and  I  was  beginning  to  hope  I  should  die 
before  winter  came.  Father  is  more  gloomy  and 
taciturn  than  ever,  and  I  often  find  him  looking  at 
me  with  a  strange  pity  and  almost  horror  in  his  eyes, 
as  if  he  were  murdering  me  and  could  not  help  it. 
His  looks  haunt  me.  Old  Gula,  too,  is  growing 
more  strange,  and  mumbles  unceasingly  of  her  un 
earthly  voices.  Still  I  could  endure  all  this,  were  it 
not  for  my  constant  and  unspeakable  fear  lest  those 
wicked  men  find  our  hiding-place,  or  spring  out  at 
me  when  I  am  away  alone  among  the  mountains. 
When  I  heard  your  step  this  evening,  I  came  near 
flying,  without  looking  back  (God  saved  me  from  that 
at  least).  I  even  wake  out  of  my  sleep,  and  imagine 
I  hear  them  coming  with  their  dreadful  oaths.  Are 
you  sure  you  can  keep  them  away  ?  " 


280  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

"Yes,  Vera,  sure.  Poor  child!  I  did  not  dream  it 
possible  that  misfortune  and  wrong  could  so  single 
you  out." 

4<  What  you  say/'  she  continued,  in  an  awed, 
frightened  tone,  "  leads  me  to  speak  of  the  worst 
trouble  of  all.  Mother's  Bible  was  burned  in  the 
cabin,  as  was  nearly  everything  else.  I  have  tried 
to  remember  its  teachings,  but  of  late  they  seemed 
slipping  from  my  mind.  Indeed,  I  appeared  some 
times  to  be  forgetting  everything.  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
dwindling  to  nothing  in  body  and  mind,  and  a  great 
fear  has  at  times  chilled  my  heart  lest  death  should 
be  just  becoming  nothing.  When  we  first  came  to 
our  hiding-place,  I  felt  that  it  was  very  doubtful 
whether  I  should  ever  see^you  or  any  one  else  again, 
and  I  gave  up  almost  all  hope  of  happiness  in  this 
life.  But,  while  the  world  was  so  dark,  the  door  of 
heaven  seemed  wide  open,  and  mother  standing  in 
its  light,  waiting  for  me.  For  a  long  time  this  beauti 
ful  vision  was  ever  before  me,  and  I  felt  like  a  traveler 
who  is  going  toward  his  home-light.  But  at  last  the 
open  door,  with  its  streaming  rays,  began  to  recede, 
and  mother's  form  to  grow  dim  ;  and  now  they  have 
gone  so  far  away  that  they  seem  like  that  faint  star 
just  above  yonder  mountain.  What  does  it  mean  ? 
Has  God  forgotten  me  ?  Is  He  in  truth  taking 
mother  far  away  into  heaven,  and  am  I  becoming  so 
much  like  the  poor,  timid  little  creatures  of  the 
woods,  that  I  shall  at  last  die  like  them,  and  become 
nothing  ?  I  wish  you  could  explain  it  all  to  me." 

"  I  can,  my  poor  little  friend,  very  readily.  When 
one  has  been  long  under  the  influence  of  trouble  and 


A  DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY.  28l 

solitude,  and  especially  when  there  has  been  a  lack 
of  nutritious  food,  the  mind  becomes  morbid,  and 
full  of  unnatural  fancies,  just  as  the  night  is  full  of 
strange,  monstrous  shadows,  which  all  disappear 
when  the  sun  rises.  The  sun  has  risen  for  you,  and 
all  these  strange  shadows  upon  your  mind  will  soon 
pass  away." 

"  But  are  you  sure  that  God  never  forgets  any  of 
His  children,  though  they  are  weak  and  insignificant  ? 
It  is  this  fear  that  troubles  me  most." 

"  Well,  Vera,  to  tell  you  a  truth,  which  you  would 
have  suspected  long  ago,  if  you  had  not  been  so  in 
nocent,  I  do  not  know  much  about  God.  I  think  you 
had  better  try  to  overcome  all  these  morbid  fancies, 
of  which  you  have  spoken,  in  a  new  and  hopeful  in 
terest  in  your  present  life.  I  promise  that  I  shall 
never  forget  you,  and  will  try  to  make  it  certain  that 
you  shall  never  be  so  exposed  to  misfortune  again." 

At  first,  Vera  gave  him  a  troubled,  startled  look, 
and  was  silent  for  some  moments.  Then  he  felt  her 
hand  tightening  in  its  grasp  upon  his  arm,  as  if  the 
thought  were  in  her  mind,  "  If  God  is  failing  me,  I 
must  cling  the  closer  to  this  friend,  who  is  so  near 
and  sympathetic." 

To  divert  her  mind,  he  told  her  of  his  experiences 
during  his  long  absence,  and  how  he  had  written  to 
her,  and  had  hoped  that  she  knew  about  his  life  else 
where,  while  he  remained  ignorant  of  hers.  He  ex 
plained  how  very  uncertain  letters  were  to  arrive, 
even  along  the  regular  lines  of  travel.  And  yet  his 
heart  reproached  him  that  he  had,  in  some  degree, 
forgotten  her  in  his  manifold  duties  and  excitements, 


282  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

and  that  he  had  not  made  greater  effort  to  learn  of 
her  welfare,  and  provide  for  her  safety. 

They  at  last  reached  a  point  where  they  must 
leave  the  comparatively  open  path  for  one  that  was 
narrow,  precipitous,  and  often,  to  his  eye,  entirely 
blocked  by  rocks  and  tangled  undergrowth.  But 
she  picked  out  a  way  for  him,  where,  in  the  dark 
ness,  none  appeared.  Toward  the  last,  however, 
her  movements  became  slow  and  feeble. 

"  Let  us  rest  awhile,"  he  said ;  "  you  are  becom 
ing  too  weaned  to  stand,  almost." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  it  is  more  than  weariness,  Mr. 
Saville.  I  have  scarcely  tasted  food  to-day;  and  the 
worst  of  it  is,  I  fear  that  we  shall  have  little,  if  any 
thing,  to  offer  you  in  the  way  of  supper.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  it  troubles  me." 

"  And  are  you  forgetting  your  own  pangs  of  hun 
ger  and  consequent  weakness,  in  the  fear  that  you 
may  not  have  a  supper  for  one  who  dined  heartily  a 
few  hours  ago  ?  "  he  asked,  taking  her  hand. 

"  But  I  am  accustomed  to  being  hungry,  and  you 
are  not." 

"  My  poor  little  friend,  I  can  scarcely  realize  it  all. 
If  you  could  spread  a  banquet  before  me,  my  heart 
would  be  too  full  to  permit  me  to  think  of  eating 
to-night."  And  the  thought  passed  through  his 
mind,  "  Can  this  maiden  and  my  bigoted,  selfish 
wife  belong  to  the  same  world  and  race?" 

He  was  naturally  generous  and  sympathetic,  and 
his  heart  overflowed  with  pity  and  tenderness  for  the 
lonely  girl,  whose  thoughts  had  constantly  followed 
him,  while  he  had  partially  forgotten  her. 


A  DIRGE  EN-DING  JOYOUSLY.  283 

He  now  insisted  on  her  pointing  out  the  way;  and 
going  before,  he  lifted  her  down  the  rocks  and  steep 
places. 

"  It  is  so  strange  to  be  petted  and  taken  care  of," 
she  said,  with  a  low  laugh,  "  that  it  must  be  all  a 
dream." 

"  Thanks  for  that  laugh,"  he  cried  ;  "  it  is  the  first 
I  have  heard  from  you,  but  I  shall  be  much  mis 
taken  if  it  is  the  last.  If  I  can  carry  out  my  will, 
this  is  your  last  dark,  miserable  day." 

"This  day  is  no  longer  dark  and  miserable,"  she 
said  promptly. 

"  How  is  that  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  is  night,  and  you 
are  both  hungry  and  weary." 

"  But  comforted  and  happy,"  she  added.  "  The 
only  ache  that  I  cannot  endure  is  the  heart-ache, 
and  your  coming  has  cured  that." 

Having  at  last  descended  into  the  wild,-  secluded 
valley,  they  were  not  long  in  reaching  what  Vera 
had  called  with  truth  "  a  wretched  little  hut." 


284  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

GULA  HEARS  A  VERITABLE  VOICE. 

WHEN  Vera  told  Saville  that  they  were  near 
the  little  cabin,  he  asked  why  no  light  ap 
peared. 

"  We  live  literally  in  darkness  much  of  the  time," 
she  replied  ;  "  for  father  will  not  permit  a  light, 
lest  its  rays  reveal  our  hiding-place ;  and  I  have 
been  so  timid,  also,  that  I  was  well  content  to  sub 
mit.  Please  wait  here,  and  I  will  prepare  father 
for  the  meeting." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  he  thought,  scanning  the  place  by 
the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  "  that  this  poor  little 
hovel  has  been  her  only  shelter  for  long  months? 
Even  our  soldiers'  huts  are  better  than  this." 

Vera  noiselessly  raised  the  latch,  saying,  at  the 
same  time,  in  a  quiet  tone,  "  It  is  I,  father." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  have  returned,  for  I  was 
beginning  to  surmise  horrible  things.  What  has 
kept  you?" 

"I  met  an  old  friend." 

"  Met  an  old  friend  !     Who  ?  " 

"  Your  friend  as  truly  as  mine.  Can  you  not 
think  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  Has  Mr.  Saville  returned,  and  is  he  indeed 
friendly?"  he  asked  eagerly. 


GULA  HEARS  A    VERITABLE    VOICE.          285 

"  He  is  more  friendly  than  ever ;  he  shall  speak 
for  himself.  Mr.  Saville  !  " 

"  O  Vera !  you  have  not  brought  him  to  this, 
our  only  refuge?"  cried  her  father  in  great  agita 
tion.  "  I  fear  evil  will  come  of  it." 

"  No,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Saville,  cordially  taking 
his  hand  ;  "  good  and  only  good  shall  come  of  it. 
I  am  here  as  a  friend  to  you  both.  Besides,  I  bring 
you  cheering  tidings,  sir.  We  are  making  good 
our  Declaration  of  Independence,  which  you  heard 
over  a  year  ago,  and  have  now  excellent  prospects 
of  final  victory." 

The  fear-haunted  man  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
then  said,  "  The  deed  has  now  been  done,  and,  since 
you  are  here,  we  will  treat  you  with  the  best  cour 
tesy  we  can  ;  but  I  had  hoped  no  living  soul  would 
ever  discover  this  retreat." 

"  God  has  in  mercy  willed  it  otherwise,  father." 

"  God,  forsooth  !  "  he  responded  bitterly.  "  If  I 
could  hide  forever  from  Him,  I  might  hope  for  a 
little  respite. 

"  We  have  not  a  chair  to  offer  you,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  Saville.  "  Will  you  accept  of  this  rude 
bench?" 

"  I  shall  be  most  content  in  faring  as  you  do," 
answered  Saville,  in  the  frank,  cordial  manner  which 
always  gives  confidence.  "  And  now,  I  pray  you, 
sir,  sit  down  with  me,  while  I  tell  you  of  the  prog 
ress  of  the  war.  Vera  has  related  enough  of  your 
experience  to  fill  me  with  the  deepest  sympathy  for 
your  misfortunes.  At  the  same  time,  I  clearly  fore 
see  brighter  days  in  store  for  you  both." 


286  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Before  the  exile  was  aware,  Saville  held  him  com 
pletely  absorbed  by  his  graphic  descriptions  of  the 
battles  that  had  occurred  during  his  long  absence. 
Vera,  in  the  mean  time,  disappeared,  and  nothing 
was  seen  of  old  Gula. 

At  last  the  door  of  the  hut  was  opened  from 
without,  and  Vera  called,  "  Come,  Mr.  Saville,  to 
my  banquet" 

"  Banquet !  "  he  said,  laughing.  "  If  you  and  Gula 
have  prepared  a  banquet  to-night,  I  shall  be  ready, 
also,  to  believe  you  are  witches,  or  good  fairies, 
rather." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "Everything 
has  turned  out  better  than  I  expected.  Father, 
come  with  us." 

To  her  surprise  and  joy,  he  who  had  seemed 
hopelessly  beyond  even  the  desire  of  seeing  or 
speaking  to  a  fellow  creature  again,  rose  hesitat 
ingly,  and  followed  them. 

Taking  Saville's  hand,  with  the  freedom  of  a  child, 
she  led  him  to  a  grassy  plot  behind  the  cabin,  where, 
in  the  moonlight,  stood  a  rude  table. 

"  I  much  feared,"  she  said,  "  that  we  should  have 
nothing  to  offer  you  to-night.  As  I  told  you  once 
before,  we  are  fed  as  the  ravens  are.  I  do  not 
know  whether  they  ever  go  supperless  to  bed,  but 
we  do  sometimes.  To-night,  however,  in  honor  of 
your  coming,  two  young  partridges  considerately 
put  their  heads  into  my  snares,  and  there  they  are 
awaiting  you." 

"  Have  you  been  out  in  the  forest  after  them  since 
your  return  ?"  asked  Saville,  still  retaining  her  hand. 


GULA   HEARS  A    VERITABLE    VOICE.          287 

"  Yes,  but  it  wasn't  very  far." 

"  And  have  you  not  had  anything  to  eat  yet  ?" 

"  I  eat  before  my  guest  ?  " 

"  Yes,  or  your  guest  will  be  most  pained  and  un 
happy.  See,  your  hand  trembles  from  weakness ; 
your  pulse  is  rapid,  yet  feeble,  while  mine  is  strong 
and  even  from  generous  living.  Can  you  think  that 
I,  who  dined  heartily  but  a  few  hours  since,  would 
take  the  smallest  part  of  those  dainty  morsels  which 
you  need  to  keep  soul  and  body  together?  Do  you 
and  your  father  sit  down  upon  this  mossy  rock, 
while  I  carve  the  birds,  and  help  you,"  and  he 
almost  compelled  them  to  do  his  bidding.  Then 
lifting  the  light  table,  he  placed  it  before  them  so 
that  they  could  not  well  rise. 

"Now  you  are  my  prisoners,"  he  continued  ;  "and 
only  on  the  condition  of  your  making  a  good  supper, 
shall  I  permit  you  to  escape." 

"  Hungry  as  I  am,  I  cannot  eat,  unless  you  share 
the  birds  with  us,"  persisted  Vera,  leaving  the 
choice  bits  before  her  untasted. 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  queer  little  sister?  If 
any  pain  were  to  be  borne,  you  would  want  it  all,  I 
warrant  you.  Well,  I'll  take  a  wing." 

"  No,  that  may  portend  your  sudden  absence 
again. " 

"Where  is  Gula?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  I'se  here,"  said  the  old  negress,  stepping  from 
the  deep  shadow  of  a  rock. 

"  And  right  glad  I  am  that  you  are  still  here," 
said  Saville  cordially.  "  I  have  heard  how  badly 
you  were  treated,  but  I  am  going  to  take  care  of 
you  all  now." 


288  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

"  Mas'r  Brown  fired  little  too  quick,  or  I'd  been 
home  now.  I  would  like  to  git  home  afore  de  cold 
winter  come.  Tink  I  will,  for  de  voices  is  callin' 
po'ful  strong  lately." 

"  But  our  voices  will  call  on  you  more  strongly  to 
stay  with  us ;  besides,  I  am  going  to  bring  a  lively 
young  colored  boy  to  help  you,  when  I  come  again. 
Vera,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  turning  to  the  young 
girl,  "be  so  kind  as  to  let  me  give  my  portion  to 
this  poor  old  creature.  When  I  come  again,  I  will, 
in  truth,  be  your  submissive  guest." 

"Well,"  said  Vera  laughing,  "I  do  not  know 
much  about  the  world  ;  but  I  imagine  that  men 
always  have  their  own  way  ii>  it." 

"  You  have  indeed  forgotten  your  Shakspeare  if 
you  think  that.  But  I  am  much  interested  in  your  gyp 
sy  life.  Where  were  these  birds  cooked  so  nicely  ?" 

"  We  has  a  stone  fireplace  in  de  side  ob  de  hill," 
said  Gula,  with  a  courtesy. 

"  Father  has  arranged  it  so  that  the  smoke  is  car 
ried  off  among  the  rocks,  and  in  such  a  way  that  it 
cannot  be  seen  by  any  one  on  the  hills  around  us," 
added  Vera  ;  "  and  the  cabin,  you  perceive,  is  quite 
hidden  by  evergreens." 

It  was,  indeed,  even  from  them,  who  were  but  a 
few  feet  away. 

"  All  this  may  answer  in  summer,  but  not  in  win 
ter,"  said  the  young  man  decidedly. 

J*  I  doubt  whether  we  could  have  survived  the 
winter,"  Vera  replied  in  a  low  tone. 

"  How  quietly  you  speak  those  darkly  suggestive 
words!" 


GULA    HEARS   A     VERITABLE     VOICE.         289 

"  It  was  my  best  hope,  till  you  came." 

"  Thank  fortune,  my  coming  was  not  delayed." 

"  I  thank  God,"  added  Vera  reverently. 

"  Don't  mention  that  name,"  said  her  father  irri 
tably.  "  I  have  always  heard  it  oftenest  when  my 
troubles  thickened."  Then  to  Saville,  "  You  spoke 
of  bringing  your  colored  servant.  I  fear  it  will  not 
be  safe,  sir." 

"  I  will  give  you  my  personal  pledge  that  it  is  ; 
and  when  you  come  to  know  the  boy,  you  will  fear 
no  harm  from  him.  So  I  trust  you  will  leave  all  to 
me,  for  I  can  provide  for  your  safety  more  surely 
than  you  can  yourself." 

Mr.  Brown  acquiesced  so  far  as  to  be  silent. 

Saville  had  seen  much  of  the  world,  but  the  pic 
ture  made  by  that  wild  mountain-gorge  and  the  lit 
tle  group  before  him  left  an  ineffaceable  impression 
upon  his  memory.  Rugged,  rocky  steeps  rose  on 
either  side,  one  shimmering  in  the  moonlight,  and 
the  other  lying  in  the  deepest  shadow.  Glades  and 
vistas  opened  here  and  there,  with  strange  effect, 
among  the  giant  trees  of  the  valley.  The  closely 
ranked  cedars  and  hemlocks  concealed  every  vestige 
of  the  little  log  hut,  and  the  inmates,  as  they  then 
appeared,  were  so  unlike  ordinary  people,  that  he 
felt  that  they  and  the  whole  scene  were  more  like  a 
creation  of  the  fancy  than  a  part  of  the  real  world. 
\  But  to  him,  who  was  weary  of  the  platitudes  and 
hollowness  of  conventional  life,  the  picture  had  an 
unspeakable  attraction. 

Old  Gula  stood  a  little  back  from  her  master  and ' 
mistress,  le.aning  her  tall,  gaunt  form,  that  was  feeble 
13 


290 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


from  age  and  lack  of  food,  against  one  of  the  granite 
boulders  that  were  scattered  thickly  at  the  base  of 
the  mountain.  Her  wrinkled  features  formed  as 
elfish  and  unearthly  a  visage  as  could  well  be  im 
agined. 

The  unbroken  rays  of  the  moon,  as  they  shone 
full  on  Vera's  father,  only  made  more  evident  what 
a  wreck  he  had  become.  His  face  was  haggard,  his 
hair  unkempt,  and  his  grizzled  beard  had  grown  to 
enormous  proportions.  At  times,  when  Saville  was 
speaking  to  him,  he  had  almost  the  bearing  of  a 
finished  gentleman  ;  a  little  later,  he  wore  the  look 
of  a  frightened  animal,  furtively  devouring  its  food. 
Although  Saville,  with  almost  the  appreciation  of 
an  artist,  marked  the  other  features  and  accessories 
of  the  picture,  his  eyes  constantly  reverted  to  Vera 
with  increasing  interest.  Having  finished  the  repast, 
which,  after  all,  was  very  meagre,  she  leaned  her 
head  upon  her  hand,  and  listened  with  such  a  wistful, 
intent  expression  in  her  face,  that  it  was  difficult  for 
him  to  dwell  merely  on  the  details  of  a  past  cam 
paign.  He  wished  to  comfort  and  reassure  her. 

He  now  had  opportunity  to  note  the  changes  that 
had  taken  place  in  her  appearance,  and  saw,  with 
boding  anxiety,  how  frail  and  thin  she  was.  Her 
sun-browned  face  was  very  pale  in  the  moonlight, 
and  more  suggestive  of  spirit  than  of  flesh  and  blood. 
To  his  kindled  fancy,  her  wealth  of  unconfined  hair 
grew  into  a  halo,  and  the  pure,  beautiful  face  be 
neath  resembled  portraits  of  saints  that  he  had  seen 
in  picture  galleries  abroad,  and  he  thought, 

"  If  the  world  would  only  worship  such  saints — • 


GULA   HEARS  A    VERITABLE    VOICE. 


29I 


lovely,  unselfish,  and  living  women — there  would  be 
more  hope  for  humanity." 

But  the  night  was  passing,  and  he  rose  to  depart. 

"  You  will  not  think  of  returning  before  the  break 
of  day  ?  "  remonstrated  Vera. 

"Yes;  I  have  lingered  too  long  already;  I  must 
be  at  my  post  in  the  morning,  and  I  have  much  to 
do  during  the  day.  I  shall  return  to-morrow  evening 
about  the  same  hour  I  came  to-night.  And  now,  sir, 
I  shall  ask  your  kindness  to  guide  me  back  to  the 
open  path." 

"  I  can  lead  you  by  a  much  nearer  way  to  Fort 
Montgomery,"  said   Mr.    Brown,  rising    promptly 
"  and  to-night  I  feel  like  taking  the  walk." 

"  I  will  not  say  good-by,"  said  Vera,  in  parting, 
"  lest  it  be  followed  by  another  long  and  dreary  ab 
sence." 

Her  father  guided  their  guest  for  several  miles, 
and  only  left  him  when  the  path  became  so  plain  as 
to  be  easily  followed.  Saville  was  greatly  pleased 
that  his  visit  had  so  aroused  the  unhappy  man,  and, 
during  their  walk,  continued  to  do  his  best  to  kindle 
in  his  mind  a  healthful  interest  in  the  outer  world. 
He  even  obtained  from  him  a  promise  that  he  would 
v  come  with  Vera,  at  sunset  the  following  evening,  to 
the  place  where  they  parted. 

During  the  remainder  of  his  walk  to  the  fort, 
Saville's  mind  was  very  active  in  trying  to  solve  the 
problems  presented  by  the  peculiar  character  and 
situation  of  the  family.  It  was  clearly  his  first  duty 
to  supply  them  with  food  and  clothing.  He  also 
resolved,  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  to  assure  the 


292  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

military  authorities  of  Mr.  Brown's  loyalty  to  the 
American  cause,  and  thus  preserve  the  family  from 
further  molestation,  because  suspected  of  being 
Tories.  He  also  determined  that  if  Larry  and  his 
wife,  Molly,  had  aught  to  do  with  the  outrages  that 
had  been  committed  against  the  family,  he  would 
make  them  suffer  to  the  extent  of  his  ability. 
Vera,  fearing  that  it  might  lead  to  a  bloody  quarrel, 
had  not  told  him  of  the  insult  received  at  Fort  Con 
stitution,  when  she  crossed  thither  to  learn  what  had 
become  of  him. 

Early  the  following  morning,  he  sought  an  in 
terview  with  James  Clinton,  who  now  commanded 
the  forts,  and  who,  several  months  previous,  had  been 
promoted  to  the  rank  of  general.  Saville,  also,  on 
the  ground  of  merit,  had  recently  been  commissioned 
captain  in  the  engineer  department. 

It  was  impossible  for  the  young  man  to  be  a  cool 
advocate,  or  to  be  satisfied  with  halfway  measures, 
and  he  soon  quite  enlisted  General  Clinton's  sympa 
thies  in  behalf  of  his  prottgts.  His  request  for  a 
brief  leave  of  absence  was  readily  granted,  and  full 
protection  for  the  family  promised. 

His  next  step  was  to  secure  a  boat  in  which  to 
visit  Peekskill,  that  he  might  obtain  the  articles  of* 
apparel  and  comfort  which  both  Vera  and  her  father 
greatly  needed ;  and  therefore  he  summoned  the 
colored  servant  whom  he  had  lately  taken  into  his 
employ,  and  who  thus  far  had  proved  a  bundle  of 
contradictions,  a  human  riddle,  that  his  master  had 
been  unable  to  solve. 

He  was  a  genuine  African  in  features  and  manner, 


GULA   HEARS  A    VERITABLE    VOICE. 


293 


and  of  that  uncertain  age  which  made  it  doubtful 
whether  he  was  man  or  boy.  He  had  presented 
himself  at  Saville's  tent  on  the  morning  after  his 
arrival,  asking  for  service. 

11  Where  do  you  come  from?"  Saville  asked. 

"  From  nowhar  in  'ticklar,"  was  the  indefinite 
response. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Mas'r  kin  call  me  what  he  likes.'* 

"  Haven't  you  any  name  ?  " 

"  I'se  had  a  sight  o'  names ;  jes'  as  liv  hab  an- 
noder.  I'll  answer  quicker'n  lightnin'  to  any  name 
you  gub  me,  if  you'se  ony  take  me." 

"  Well,  who  are  you,  any  way?" 

"  I  doesn't  jes'  know." 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  this  region  ?  " 

"  I'se  a-lookin'  for  somebody." 

"  And  somebody  is  looking  for  you,  I  imagine. 
You  have  run  away.  Where  is  your  master  ?  " 

"  Dar  he  is,  I'se  a-hopin',"  said  this  most  indefi 
nite  of  human  atoms,  at  the  same  time  ducking  his 
head  toward  Saville.  "  Jes'  guv  me  a  chance,  and 
you'se  '11  see  I  knows  a  heap  more  'bout  some  oder 
tings  dan  I  does  'bout  myself." 

*'  Very  well,"  said  Saville  carelessly.  "  I  will  keep 
you  till  you  are  claimed,  or  till  I  find  you  will  not 
answer  my  purpose." 

At  this,  the  boy  had  ducked  again,  and  pulled  a 
little  horn  of  wool  that  he  had  seemingly  coaxed 
over  his  forehead  for  polite  or  politic  uses. 

"  Now,  if  mas'r  '11  jes'  guv  me  a  handle,  I'se  '11 
begin  to  be  use'l  right  straight." 


2Q4  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

"<  A  handle!'" 

"  Yeh,  sumpen  to  call  and  send  me  by." 

"  Oh  !  a  name.  Any  one  of  your  old  ones  will 
answer." 

*'  If  mas'r  please,  I'd  rudder  he  guv  me  a  new  un." 

"  Bless  me  !  I  don't  know  what  to  call  you,  unless 
I  take  the  mathematician's  terms  for  an  unknown 
quantity,  and  name  you  X  Y  Z." 

"Dat'll  suit  kerzackly,"  was  the  delighted  re 
sponse.  "  '  Ekswyze.'  I  neber  had  as  big  a  name 
as  dat  afore." 

"  But  I  shall  call  you  X  for  short,"  said  Saville, 
laughing.  "  Now  let  me  see  what  you  can  do." 

The  boy,  even  in  a  few  hours,  proved  his  ability 
to  serve  well,  if  he  so  chose,  and  now  was  on  hand, 
ready  to  do  his  master's  bidding  with  alacrity. 

"  Find  me  a  small  sail-boat,  that  can  be  rowed  if 
the  wind  is  contrary,  and  be  ready  to  go  with  me  to 
Peeksktll  in  half  an  hour." 

Within  less  time,  the  boy  reported  that  all  was 
ready,  and  a  favorable  breeze  soon  enabled  them  to 
reach  the  store  of  Daniel  Birdsall.  From  his  meagre 
stock,  Saville  made  the  best  selection  he  could,  half 
smiling,  half  frowning  over  the  coarse  material  and 
stout  shoes  he  was  compelled  to  buy  for  Vera's 
wear. 

"  They  will  at  least  keep  her  warm,"  he  thought  • 
"and  I  have  no  fears  but  that,  by  some  form  of 
woman's  magic,  she  will  conjure  this  dark  stuff  into 
a  tasteful  dress.  Perhaps  I  may  do  better  another 
time  in  the  stores  up  the  river." 

He  also  purchased  an  abundance  of  ammunition, 


GULA   HEARS  A    VERITABLE    VOICE.          29$ 

and  such  provisions  as  the  place  furnished.  Making 
all  into  two  stout  bundles,  he  returned,  landing  con 
siderably  above  the  fort,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
followed  by  curious  eyes. 

"  Now,  X,  take  the  boat  back,  and  return  as  soon 
as  possible.  If  any  inquire  where  I  am,  say  that  I 
am  shooting  among  the  hills." 

X  speedily  rejoined  his  master,  at  whose  bidding 
he  took  up  the  heavier  bundle,  and  followed  with 
out  a  jot  of  interest,  apparently,  as  to  their  destina 
tion. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  sense  enough  to  hold 
your  tongue,"  said  Saville.  "  For  a  time,  you  may 
be  able  to  serve  me  best  by  serving  others.  I  have 
friends  back  in  the  mountains,  with  whom  I  may 
leave  you  ;  and  if  there  is  anything  about  them  that 
seems  strange,  think  what  you  please,  but  never 
speak  of  what  you  see  and  hear  to  any  one.  If  you 
do,  I  have  the  means  of  making  you  wish  you  had 
bitten  your  tongue  off  first." 

"  Mas'r  Saville'll  find  out  by-and-by  dat  I'se  po'- 
ful  good  at  knowin'  nuffin  dat's  nobody's  business." 

"  Yes,"  laughed  Saville ;  "  you  have  given  me  a 
proof  of  that  already.  I  think  you  may  be  just  the 
boy  I  want." 

The  sun  appeared  like  a  great  beacon-fire  on  the 
summit  of  a  western  mountain,  as  they  reached  the 
place  where  Mr.  Brown  had  promised  to  meet  them 
with  Vera  ;  but  there  was  not  a  trace  of  their 
presence. 

"They  have  not  arrived  yet,"  thought  Saville, 
"  but  it  is  time  they  were  near.  I  will  give  our  old 


296 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


signal,  and  Vera  may  answer  ; "  and  he  played  the 
familiar  air. 

Almost  immediately  a  powerful  yet  bird-like  voice 
answered,  from  a  neighboring  thicket, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

"  Gosh!  what's  dat  ?  "  said  X,  starting  up  in  great 
alarm. 

"  That  is  your  future  mistress,  X ;  don't  run  away 
till  you  see  her." 

As  Vera  stepped  forth  with  her  father,  her  strange 
appearance  and  remarkable  beauty  so  impressed 
poor  X  that  he  muttered, 

"  I  knowed  any  critter  wid  a  voice  like  dat  mus' 
be  a  speret  from  one  place  or  t'oder.  Tink  she  ain't 
from  t'oder,  dough  ;  for  dat  ar  singin'  was  hebbenly, 
sure  'nuff.  But  I  doesn't  like  de  looks  ob  de  ole 
man." 

X  soon  gained  his  stolid  composure,  however,  and 
was  able  to  pull  his  little  woolly  horn  with  his  wonted 
nonchalance,  when  introduced  with  his  big  bundle. 

Saville  greeted  his  friends  with  the  utmost  cor 
diality,  and  sought  by  his  manner  to  banish  their 
timidity.  Hope  and  happiness  had  already  wrought 
a  marvelous  change  in  Vera,  and  Saville,  as  of  old, 
found  himself  wondering  at  her  beauty. 

"What  have  you  here?"  she  asked,  with  childlike 
curiosity  and  vivacity. 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  this  is  X  Y  Z.  If  you 
can  find  out  any  more  about  him,  you  will  accom 
plish  more  than  I  have  done.  As  for  these  bundles, 
we  will  open  them  at  the  cabin.  If  you  will  spread 


GULA  HEARS  A    VERITABLE    VOICE.          297 

a  banquet  for  me  again  to-night,  you  will  find  that 
I  shall  need  no  urging  to  partake  of  it." 

"  I  have  nothing  better  than  a  few  more  birds," 
said  Vera  ruefully. 

"  What  could  be  better,  my  quaint  Ariel  ?  Come; 
moonlight  will  not  satisfy  me  to-night." 

The  moon  was  just  rising  when  they  reached  the 
cabin.  X  sat  down  with  his  bundle  where  he  was 
bidden,  and,  wearied  with  the  fatigue  of  the  day,  was 
inclined  to  go  immediately  to  sleep,  when  a  name, 
uttered  by  Saville,  aroused  him  thoroughly. 

"  Gula,"  Saville  had  called,  "  come  and  see  what 
I  have  brought  you." 

"  Gula  !  "  repeated  X.  "  What  Gula  is  dis  ?  "  and 
he  strained  his  eyes  toward  the  dark  recess  among 
the  rocks  where  glowed  a  few  live  coals.  After  a 
moment,  he  could  endure  his  suspense  no  longer, 
and  said, 

"  Mas'r  Saville,  shall  I  bring  de  tings  dar?" 

"What  voice  isdat?"  cried  Gula  in  her  shrillest 
and  most  excited  tones.  And  she  rushed  to  the 
spot  where  X  was  standing  in  trembling  expectancy. 

"  Who  is  you  ?  What  is  your  name  ?  "  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"  De  name  Mas'r  Saville  guv  me  is  Ekswyze,"  said 
X  mechanically. 

"No!  no!  no !"  cried  Gula,  more  shrill  and  ex 
cited  than  ever.  "  What  name  did  you'se  mudder 
gib  you  when  you'se  was  a  little  chile?" 

"  Tascar." 

With  a  wild  cry  Gula  threw  her  arms  around  the 
boy,  exclaiming,  "  I'se  your  mudder!  I'se  called 

13* 


298 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


you  Tascar  when  you  was  a  baby,  arter  one  I  lubbed 
in  de  warm  sun-land.  Oh  !  my  po',  ole,  dead  heart 
jes'  seem  as  if  it  had  riz  right  up  out  ob  de  grave." 

All  gathered  round  Gula,  overflowing  with  sym 
pathy  and  congratulations,  and  the  moon,  rising 
above  the  eastern  Highlands,  enabled  the  mother  to 
see  the  features  of  her  long-lost  son.  Every  moment 
or  two  she  would  cry  out, 

"  Yeh,  yeh,  it  is  my  little  Tascar,  sure  'nuff." 

"  I  knowed  I'd  find  you,  mudder,"  said  the  boy 
delightedly.  "  Dey  couldn't  keep  me  long  down  dar 
when  dey  sole  me  'way  from  you.  I  came  back  to 
whar  you  used  to  be,  and  foun'  you  had  run  up  dis 
way  (lame  Tom  tole  me).  De  world. is  po'ful  big 
place,  but  I  knowed  I'd  find  you  if  I  only  looked 
long  'nuff." 

"  You  are  now  no  longer  an  unknown  quantity, 
so  we  will  call  you  Tascar  after  this,"  said  Saville, 
laughing. 

"  And  now,  Gula,"  added  Vera,  "  you  have  at  last 
heard  a  real  voice,  and  I  hope  it  will  satisfy  you,  so 
that  you  will  not  listen  any  more  for  those  strange, 
unearthly  voices  that  you  thought  were  calling  you 
away  from  us.  I  suppose  Tascar  is  hungry,  like  the 
rest  of  us;  so  you  may  take  him  into  your  rocky  kit 
chen,  and  let  him  help  you  get  our  supper.  Mr.  Sa 
ville  has  generously  brought  us  a  great  many  things. 

11  See,  Mr.  Saville,"  she  continued,  taking  his  arm, 
and  leading  him  a  little  apart ;  "  see  what  a  differ 
ence  your  coming  has  made  to  us  all.  Old  Gula  has 
found  her  son  ;  and  father  has  changed  so  much  for 
the  better,  I  scarcely  know  him." 


GULA   HEARS  A    VERITABLE    VOICE. 


299 


"  And  you  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Saville,  you  have  never  known  what  it 
was  to  have  but  one  friend,  one  hope,  in  the  world. 
When  I  first  heard  your  steps,  I  was  lying  on 
mother's  grave,  and  praying  that  I  might  speedily 
sleep  beside  her.  Surely  God  sent  you  to  us." 

"  Think  so,  little  one,  if  it  does  you  any  good." 

"  But  do  you  not  think  so?  " 

"  All  I  know  is  that  I  have  come,  and  very  glad 
I  am  that  it  was  not  too  late." 

"  I  wish  you  could  explain  to  me  about  God,  and 
make  Him  seem  near  to  me  again." 

"  I  cannot,  Vera ;  let  us  change  the  subject," 
Saville  replied,  a  little  abruptly. 

She  sighed,  but  soon  gave  herself  up  to  thorough 
enjoyment  of  the  happiest  hour  that  had  ever  yet 
come  into  her  brief  and  shadowed  life. 


3OO  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

CAMP  FIRES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES. 

NOT  very  long  after  their  bountiful  supper,  Sa- 
ville  said, 

"  I  had  but  little  sleep  last  night,  and  have  taken 
many  steps  to-day  ;  so,  with  your  permission,  I  will 
seek  a  resting-place." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  we  have  scarcely  anything  better 
than  the  cabin  floor  to  offer  you,"  said  Vera  rue 
fully. 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  a  soldier,  and  that  at  this 
time  of  the  year  I  ask  no  better  bed  than  the  green 
sward." 

The  cabin,  like  the  larger  one  near  West  Point, 
had  been  constructed  with  a  small  loft.  Into  this 
Vera  crept,  but  for  a  long  time  was  too  happy  for 
sleep. 

Saville  took  the  blanket  that  Tascar  had  brought 
at  his  bidding,  and,  throwing  himself  under  a  wide- 
spreading  hemlock,  slept  as  only  the  strong  and 
weary  can  sleep.  Gula  and  her  son  dozed  and 
crooned  in  their  rocky  recess,  till  the  dawn  aroused 
them  to  preparations  for  breakfast.  Even  the  poor, 
remorseful  exile  rested  with  an  unwonted  sense  of 
security. 


CAMP  FIXES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES.        301 

The  next  morning,  Saville  tried  to  induce  Mr. 
Brown  to  permit  him  to  find  them  a  better  home 
nearer  the  fort,  but  found  that  any  proposition  of 
the  kind  would  not  be  entertained. 

"  I  have  a  feeling  that  I  am  safe  here,  and  nowhere 
else,"  he  said.  "  If  you  think  best,  Vera  and  Gula 
can  go,  but  I  shall  remain." 

"  I  shall  not  leave  you,  father,"  said  Vera, 
quietly. 

"  Well,"  said  Saville,  cheerily  but  firmly,  "  then 
we  must  make  you  all  as  comfortable  here  as  we 
can.  A  new  cabin,  as  large  as  the  old  one  that  was 
burned,  must  be  built." 

"  But  that  will  attract  attention,"  remonstrated 
Mr.  Brown. 

"  Suppose  it  does.  I  have  satisfied  General  Clin 
ton  that  you  are  loyal  to  our  cause,  and  he  has  prom 
ised  you  and  your  family  full  protection." 

"  Does  General  Clinton  know  anything  of  me  and 
my  whereabouts  ? "  cried  the  man,  starting  up  in 
great  alarm. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  if  he  had  only  known  before  what 
I  told  him  yesterday,  you  would  not  have  been  mo 
lested  in  your  old  home.  Can  you  not  see,  Mr. 
Brown,  that  nothing  so  draws  attention  and  suspi 
cion  as  your  effort  to  hide  from  every  one  ?  At  the 
time  I  was  so  hastily  ordered  away  from  this  region, 
I  yielded  .to  your  judgment,  and  did  not  say  much 
concerning  you,  not  having  your  permission.  But 
now,  for  Vera's  sake,  as  well  as  your  own,  I  can  allow 
no  doubt  to  exist  as  to  the  fact  of  your  being  heart 
ily  on  our  side.  In  respect  to  anything  else,  no  one 


302  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

seeks  to  know  aught.  I  can  promise  you  all  perfect 
safety,  if  you  will  do  just  what  I  ask." 

The  exile's  brow  contracted  darkly,  but  he  would 
not  meet  Saville's  eye. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Saville,  in  a  low,  meaning 
tone. 

The  man  now  gave  him  a  startled,  apprehensive 
look. 

"  I  can  promise  you  perfect  safety,  if  you  do  just 
what  I  ask,"  Saville  continued,  in  the  same  low,  sig 
nificant  voice. 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  was  the  eager  reply. 

"  There's  my  hand  in  pledge." 

Mr.  Brown  seized  it  like  a  drowning  man,  and 
from  that  hour  became  Saville's  slave. 

Vera  watched  this  strange  interview  with  a  beat 
ing  heart,  and,  at  its  close,  felt  as  never  before,  even 
that  her  destiny  also  was  controlled  by  the  young 
stranger,  whom  Providence  had  sent,  as  she  believed, 
to  rescue  both  herself  and  her  father  from  the  hope 
less  and  helpless  condition  into  which  they  had 
drifted. 

With  characteristic  energy  and  promptness,  Saville 
set  about  the  tasks  made  necessary  by  the  decision 
to  remain  in  the  secluded  glen.  He  decided  that 
the  little  hut  already  built  should  be  preserved  for 
Gula  and  her  son ;  and  the  plan  of  a  much  larger 
cabin,  for  the  use  of  Vera  and  her  father,  was  marked 
out  adjoining  it. 

"  I  also  mean  to  have  a  little  nook  myself,"  he 
said, 

"  It  will  all  be  yours,"  Vera  added  promptly. 


CAMP  FIRES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES. 


3°3 


He  looked  at  her  so  earnestly  that  the  blood  came 
into  her  face,  though  why,  she  did  not  know.  After 
a  moment,  he  said,  half  to  her,  and  half  in  soliloquy 

"  I  cannot  tell  why  it  is,  but  this  place  already 
seems  to  me  more  like  a  home  than  any  I  have  yet 
known  ' 

"I  do  not  understand  how yau  can  feel  so,"  said 
Vera,  looking  frankly  into  his  face.  "  It  will,  in 
truth,  be  home  to  me ;  because  containing,  when 
you  are  here,  all  whom  I  love." 

Again  he  gave  her  an  earnest  took,  as  he  said, 

"  Nature  is  a  rare  teacher,  my  little  friend ;  and 
she  has  taught  you  a  truth  which  we  sometimes  for 
get,  to  our  sorrow.  Only  the  places  which  contain 
those  whom  we  love  can  be  homes." 

"And  it  is  your  love  for  us,"  exclaimed  Vera, 
openly  and  joyously,  as  if  she  had  solved  the  mys 
tery,  "  that  makes  this  forbidding  place  seem  home 
like." 

"That  is  not  bad  logic,"  he  replied,  laughing; 
"  though  your  pronoun  is  rather  too  general." 

"  How  strange  it  is,"  said  Vera  musingly,  "  that 
we  should  have  met  as  we  did,  and  that  you  should 
have  become  my  brother  in  very  truth !  Do  such 
things  often  happen  in  the  world?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Then  I  have  been  specially  favored,  when  I  have 
been  almost  repining  at  my  lot." 

"  I  certainly  have  been  very  fortunate  in  finding 
such  a  sweet,  wild  flower  in  this  wilderness  of  a 
world.  But  come;  this  is  not  preparing  for  the 
cold  storms  of  winter,  which,  unfortunately,  are  near. 


304  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

You  must  ply  the  needle,  and  bring  home  the  game, 
while  your  father  and  Tascar  do  the  heavy  work. 
Ye  gods!  how  I  would  like  to  stay  here  and  help 
you  !  I  have  brought  plenty  of  powder  and  shot  for 
your  gun." 

"  But  will  it  be  safe  to  have  the  report  of  fire-arms 
heard  here?" 

"  Certainly ;  the  old  policy  of  hiding  and  conceal 
ment  is  past ;  and  as  soon  as  I  can,  I  shall  find  you 
a  home  where  you  can  have  good,  kind  neighbors. 
Bring  your  gun,  and  let  me  see  if  you  can  hit  that 
gray  squirrel  in  yonder  tall  tree." 

She  complied,  with  the  joyousness  of  a  child,  and 
was  soon  within  range  with  her  light  fowling- 
piece. 

"  Now,  quick!  before  he  moves,"  cried  Saville. 

Her  merry  laugh  rang  out,  as  she  threw  pebbles 
at  the  little  creature,  till,  thoroughly  alarmed,  it  ran 
to  the  topmost  boughs.  Then,  as  it  was  in  the  act 
of  springing  to  another  tree,  she  fired,  and  it  fell 
dead  at  her  feet. 

"  I  take  off  my  hat  to  you,"  cried  Saville.  "  You 
excel  Diana  herself." 

The  morning  passed  all  too  quickly,  and,  after  an 
early  dinner,  Saville  returned  to  the  fort,  taking 
Tascar,  that  he  might  send  back  by  him  tools  and 
other  needed  articles. 

During  the  week  following,  Saville  pleaded,  with 
justice,  that  he  had  scarcely  had  a  respite  from  duty 
since  joining  the  service,  and  obtained  leave  to  ab 
sent  himself  for  several  days.  He  started  ostensibly 
upon  a  hunting  excursion  in  {he  mountains,  but  took 


CAMP  FIRES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES.        305 

the  shortest  path  to  the  secluded  valley,  which  was 
beginning  to  have  for  him  peculiar  attractions. 

The  days  passed  like  enchantment.  Under  the 
new  and  happier  conditions  of  her  life,  Vera  appeared 
to  grow  hourly  in  beauty  and  fascination.  The  re 
cuperative  power  of  nature  was  in  her  mind  and 
body.  She  was  like  a  sunny  bank,  that  a  few  warm 
spring  days  change  from  wintry  bareness  to  fragrant 
bloom. 

Her  feeling  for  Saville  was  the  frank,  undisguised 
affection  of  a  sister;  or,  perhaps  more  truly,  the 
strong,  innocent  love  of  a  child,  that  gives  its  heart 
wholly  for  the  time  to  those  who  win  it. 

The  woman  in  Vera  was  still  unawakened,  though, 
at  times,  there  was  an  intensity  in  Saville's  gaze  that 
quickened  her  pulse  a  little,  and  mantled  her  cheek 
with  a  richer  hue  than  even  restored  vigor  was  giv 
ing  it  again. 

As  for  Saville,  he  was  self-deceived.  We  have 
already  seen  that  he  had  a  faculty  for  illusion,  and 
this  was  especially  true  in  the  line  of  his  favorite 
theories.  As  he  had  once  imagined  his  transient 
passion  for  a  most  unworthy  object  to  be  the  pre 
cursor  of  lasting  and  conjugal  affection,  so  now  he 
regarded  the  pure  flame  of  love,  which  was  kindling 
in  his  heart  for  Vera,  as  a  lofty  kind  of  friendship, 
resulting  from  the  peculiar  accord  of  their  two  na 
tures.  He  felt  that  he  was  in  all  respects  ennobled 
and  made  better  by  her  society.  Unconsciously  she 
stimulated  every  good  quality  he  possessed  into 
greater  vigor.  She  was  so  pure  and  innocent  her 
self  that  his  passion  slept  in  her  presence,  while  his 


306  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

higher  faculties  of  mind  and  heart  were  awakened 
into  aspirations  that  were  as  thrillingly  delightful  as 
they  were  foreign  to  all  his  former  experience. 

Moreover,  his  conscience  commended  the  part  he 
was  acting  toward  her.  The  circumstances  of  their 
acquaintance  had  been  such,  that  every  generous, 
sympathetic  trait  he  possessed  was  enlisted  in  her 
behalf.  He  regarded  himself  as  a  disciple  of  nature 
and  an  apostle  of  humanity.  In  his  view,  nature 
had  been  her  teacher,  and  had  formed  her  character ; 
and  the  result  confirmed  his  theory  that  all  should 
be  guided  by  nature's  teachings.  In  their  warm  and 
growing  friendship,  were  not  they  both  following 
the  strong  and  natural  impulses  of  their  hearts  ? 

As  one  devoted  to  the  interests  of  humanity,  he 
would  consider  himself  most  false,  did  he  leave  this 
innocent  maiden  to  the  perils  of  her  peculiar  iso 
lated  condition,  and  he  honestly  desired  to  obtain 
for  her  a  safe  and  recognized  position  in  society,  as 
soon  as  possible. 

But  the  spell  of  her  beauty  grew  daily  upon  him ; 
the  touch  of  her  hand  was  acquiring  subtle  power 
to  thrill  every  nerve  and  fiber  of  his  body ;  the  tones 
of  her  voice  kept  repeating  themselves,  for  long 
hours  in  his  heart ;  and  before  his  visit  was  over, 
even  the  man  of  theories  and  illusions  was  perplexed 
at  certain  peculiarities  in  his  platonic  friendship. 

But  the  woman  in  Vera  still  slumbered,  and  she 
returned  his  affection  with  the  same  frank  innocence 
as  at  first. 

After  his  visit  to  the  romantic  glen,  life  at  the  fort 
was  to  Saville  very  "  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofit- 


CAMP  FIRES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES. 


307 


able."  Not  even  the  fact  that  the  enemy  might  soon 
make  a  demonstration  up  the  river,  could  greatly 
divert  his  thoughts  at  first,  and  only  as  the  tidings 
from  the  armies,  under  both  Washington  and  Gates 
grew  full  of  exciting  interest,  and  the  prospect  that 
the  British  forces  in  New  York  would  seek  to  force 
their  way  through  the  Highlands  became  quite  cer 
tain,  did  his  old  military  ardor  rekindle.  As  all 
seemed  quiet  on  Saturday  evening,  the  4th  of  Octo 
ber,  he  obtained  permission  to  be  absent  from  the 
fort  during  the  Sabbath.  The  moment  the  duties  of 
the  day  were  over,  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  secluded 
valley,  which  now  shut  in  his  thoughts  from  the 
outer  world  almost  as  completely  as  it  immured  the 
exiles  who  had  found  a  refuge  there. 

His  coming  was  a  glad  surprise  to  Vera,  and 
there  were  evidences  of  deeper  feeling  in  her  wel 
come  than  she  had  ever  yet  manifested. 

"You  are  not  going  away  again  from  this  re 
gion  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Not  soon,  that  I  am  aware.     Why?" 

"  I  have  had  such  a  dreary  foreboding  of  evil  of  some 

kind,  and  last  night  I  dreamed "  and  she  suddenly 

covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  burst  into  tears. 
"  Why,  Vera,  this  is  unlike  you  :  are  you  well  ?  " 
"  Yes,  yes ;  but  it  was  such  a  terrible  dream  !  " 
"  Tell  me  it,  and  I  will  explain  it  away." 
"  I  dreamed  that  there  had  been  a  battle,  and  that 
you  were  left  wounded  and  dying  on  the  ground, 
and  I  could  not  find  you,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  shud 
dering  tone,  with  tears  starting  afresh.     "  Is  there 
prospect  of  a  battle  ?" 


308  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

"  No  special  prospect — no  more  than  there  has 
been  for  several  days  past ;  but  a  soldier  cannot  look 
for  anything  else." 

"  I  wish  I  did  not  feel  so,"  said  Vera. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  my  little  friend.  Dreams  go  by 
contraries.  Never  shed  tears  over  troubles  that  may 
not  come ;  "  and  he  exerted  himself  to  his  utmost  to 
banish  her  gloomy  fears. 

The  new  log  cabin,  at  which  he  also  had  labored 
during  his  visit,  was  now  nearly  complete,  and  he 
kindled  a  genial  fire  in  its  ample  chimney-place. 

He  took  a  genuine  interest  in  all  that  had  been  done 
in  his  absence,  and  praised  the  results  of  each  one's 
labor.  But  Vera  noted  with  pleasure  that  he  lin 
gered  longest  over  her  handiwork.  Never  before  had 
he  been  so  kind  or  so  thoughtful  of  her.  His  mere 
tones  and  glances  were  like  caresses.  But  all  this 
only  made  her  heart  more  full,  for  she  could  not 
cast  off  the  miserable  presentiment  with  which  she 
had  risen  that  morning.  For  his  sake,  however, 
she  disguised  her  feelings. 

After  dinner,  the  following  day,  they  took  a  long 
walk  together,  and  she  accompanied  him  well  on  his 
way  back  to  the  fort. 

As  they  were  parting,  she  said,  as  she  clung  to  his 
hand, 

"  Promise  me  one  thing — if  there  is  a  battle — that 
you  will  not  needlessly  or  recklessly  expose  your 
self.  What  would  become  of  us  if  you  were — if 
you  were — oh  !  my  heart  almost  breaks  even  at  the 
thought !  If  you  have  any  pity  or  love  for  me,  grant 
what  I  ask." 


CAMP  FIRES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES.        309 

"  '  If  I  have  any  love  for  you,'  Vera  ?  I  hardly 
dare  trust  my  heart  to  answer.  Well,  well,  little 
sister,  I  will  be  as  prudent  as  a  soldier  can  be  with 
honor.  I  must  say  good-by  at  once,  or  I  may  be 
tempted  not  to  go  at  all , "  and  for  the  first  time  he 
stooped  down  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

She  watched  his  receding  figure  as  long  as  it  was 
visible,  and  then  returned  to  the  cabin,  with  an  in 
creasing  weight  upon  her  heart. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  fort, 
the  camp  fires  were  lighted,  and  around  these  the 
men  were  gathered,  cooking  the  evening  meal.  To 
divert  his  thoughts,  he  wandered  aimlessly  here  and 
there,  watching  the  strange  effects  of  light  and 
shadow  among  the  rocks  and  evergreens,  and  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  bearded  men  as  they  passed 
to  and  fro  between  the  fires.  Even  the  coarse 
rations  of  the  soldiery  gave  forth  a  savory  odour 
in  the  open  air.  From  all  sides  came  the  cheerful 
hum  of  voices,  and  from  many  groups,  the  sound 
of  laughter,  or  the  notes  of  a  rollicking  song. 

"  This  scene  has  more  the  air  of  a  gypsy  encamp 
ment  than  the  stern  aspect  of  war,"  he  thought.  "  I 
wish  Vera  could  see  it,  for  it  would  quite  allay  her 
fears.  What  does  that  singing  mean  yonder  ?  "  and 
he  made  his  way  to  a  large  fire,  around  which  num 
bers  were  increasing  continually." 

"  Oh  !  it's  a  religious  meeting.  There  is  Parson 
Gano !  How  dearly  Vera  would  love  to  hear  his 
pious  jargon,  and  would  swallow  it  all,  poor  child, 
as  undoubted  truth !  Still,  I  am  glad  to  note  that 
she  speaks  less  and  less  of  these  things,  and  think  she 


3io 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


has  a  native  strength  of  mind  which  will  enable  her 
to  outgrow  her  superstitious  trammels.  Well,  Gano 
is  a  good,  brave  fellow,  if  he  is  teaching  solemn  non 
sense ;  and  out  of  curiosity  I'll  stay,  and  hear  what 
he  has  to  say."  And  he  sat  down  under  the  shadow 
of  a  tree,  and  watched  the  scene,  as  one  might  look 
on  some  heathenish  incantation. 

The  throng  around  the  fire  grew  large,  for  the 
preacher  was  a  popular  speaker.  Officers  mingled 
with  the  men,  as  they  would  do  in  the  plain  meeting 
houses  in  their  distant  village  homes ;  and  Saville 
.could  not  help  noting  that  the  serious  faces  lighted 
up  by  the  glare  of  the  central  fire,  were,  in  the  main, 
manly,  self-respecting  and  intelligent. 

"  How  is  it,"  he  asked  himself,  "that  sane  and 
even  very  clever  people  can  keep  up  with  so  much 
pains  this  old-fashioned  mummery  of  religion  ?  Cut 
bono  ?  What  is  the  good  of  it  all?  Here  we  are 
living  in  a  world  of  inexorable  law  and  destiny, 
and  yet  multitudes  are  praying  to  an  old  Hebrew 
divinity,  that  never  had  any  existence,  as  if  they 
expected  practical  help  !  Could  anything  be  more 
absurd  ?  The  idea  of  my  getting  down  on  my  knees, 
and  praying  to  one  of  Homer's  demi-gods !  What 
is  it  in  men  that  makes  them  so  credulous  ?  " 

Here  he  suspended  his  soliloquy  to  listen  to  the 
hymn  which  the  chaplain  gave  out  before  his  sermon. 
The  voices  that  sang  it  were  untrained  and  rough, 
and  the  harmony  not  very  smooth,  and  yet  the  crit 
ical  listener  admitted  to  himself  that  there  was  a 
certain  element  in  the  music  which  made  it  differ 
from  a  mere  performance. 


CAMP  FIRES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES. 

"  Human  action,  however  absurd  and  unreasonable, 
is  always  impressive  when  earnest,"  he  philosophized  ; 
"  but,  after  all,  what  is  the  secret  spring  in  man 
which  leads  to  this  folly?  " 

Though  not  aware  of  it  at  first,  he  was  answered 
by  the  text,  which  was  now  announced  : 

"  Jesus  saith  unto  her,  I  am  the  resurrection  and 
the  life ;  he  that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were 
dead,  yet  shall  he  live  ; 

"  And  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall 
never  die.  Believest  thou  this  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  Saville's  decided  mental  response. 
"  That  Jesus  said  this  '  unto  her?  is  most  appropriate, 
for  it  was  an  assertion  fit  to  be  addressed  only  to  a 
credulous  woman." 

"  The  Being  who  uttered  these  remarkable  words," 
began  the  chaplain,  simply  standing  up  before  the 
fire,  and  talking  in  a  familiar  and  fatherly  way  to  his 
audience,  "  had  the  power  to  make  them  good  ;  and, 
therefore,  we  may  take  to  our  hearts  all  the  hope 
and  encouragement  they  contain'." 

"  That  is  where  we  differ,"  thought  Saville,  rising 
and  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Why  had  the  man, 
Jesus,  such  power,  more  than  other  enthusiasts  of 
the  past  ?  That  is  the  way  with  all  these  teachers 
of  religion.  They  first  assume  what  is  contrary  to 
reason,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  their  conclusions 
are  absurd,  and  often  monstrous.  There  is  no  use 
of  my  wasting  more  time  here."  But,  as  he  was 
moving  away,  the  preacher's  words  again  caught  his 
attention. 

"To-night,"  said  Chaplain  Gano,  "the  scenes,  even 


NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

within  and  around  these  military  forts,  are  peaceful, 
rather  than  warlike.  The  sky  is  cloudless,  and  there 
are  the  stars  looking  down  as  steadily  as  the  eyes 
of  God.  Only  the  insects'  chirp  is  heard  in  the  dark 
valleys  and  on  the  steeps  around  us.  The  Sabbath 
stillness  is  broken  by  no  ruder  sounds  than  the  pro 
fane  mirth  and  songs  which  sometimes  disturb  our 
worship.  To  the  ear  of  heaven,  though,  ribald 
words  and  laughter  make  harsher  discord  than  the 
wildest  din  of  battle,  where  freemen  are  warring  for 
their  rights.  Still,  there  is  nothing  apparent  to  man, 
in  the  scenes  about  us  to-night,  to  awaken  the  emo 
tion  of  fear,  even  in  the  breasts  of  the  fearful. 

"  But,  what  shall  be  on  the  morrow?  Such  is  our 
uncertain  tenure  of  earthly  life,  we  could  not  ask 
this  question  in  our  peaceful  homes  without  misgiv 
ings.  But,  how  much  it  means  to  the  soldiery  ! 
Only  by  killing  many  of  us,  do  our  enemies  hope  to 
again  put  their  feet  upon  our  necks.  Many  of  us 
must  be  slain  before  our  righteous  cause  can  tri 
umph.  A  few  years,  perhaps  but  a  few  days — do 
not  think  I  am  talking  wildly  when  I  say,  but  a  few 
hours — may  elapse  before  these  warm;  living  bodies 
of  ours  become  like  the  clods  beneath  our  feet." 

A  foreboding  recollection  of  Vera's  dream  came 
into  Saville's  mind. 

-"  Young  man,"  continued  the  chaplain  more  ear 
nestly,  leveling  his  long  finger  at  a  careless  young 
fellow,  who  was  whispering  to  a  comrade  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  fire,  "  I  have  no  doubt  that 
you  are  a  brave  soldier.  Alas  !  you  seem  so  bold 
that  you  are  willing  to  defy  God  as  well  as  man ! 


CAMP  FIRES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES         313 

When  the  foe  attacks  these  forts,  you  will  try  to  do 
your  duty ;  but  do  you  not  realize  that  this  very 
duty  may  cause  your  vigorous  young  body  to  be 
racked  with  dying  pains  ?  If  I  could  tell  you  that 
to-morrow  evening  you  would  be  lying  dead  some 
where  in  the  cold  starlight,  what  ought  you  to  do 
now  ?  What  ought  you — and  you — and  you — to 
do  ?  "  he  asked  solemnly,  sweeping  his  finger  around 
the  entire  circle.  "  What  ought  we  all  to  do  ? 

"  Ought?  How  great  the  privilege,  rather,  of 
creatures  like  ourselves — weak  and  ready  to  perish 
at  all  times,  now  hourly  exposed  to  peril — how 
great  is  the  privilege  of  heeding  the  Divine  Saviour 
as  He  cries,  '  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life.'  If 
we  trust  and  fear  the  One  who  spake  these  words, 
we  have  naught  else  to  fear.  The  bullet  that  pierces 
us  may  be  but  God's  swift  messenger  to  summon  us 
home.  Suppose  our  mangled  bodies  do  strew  these 
rugged  hill-sides  and  rocky  forts  !  The  cruel  foe 
cannot  so  trample  them  out  of  shape,  nor  time  so 
destroy  them,  nor  the  winds  so  scatter  and  dissipate 
them,  but  that  He,  who  declared,  '  I  am  the  resurrec 
tion,'  can  raise  them  up,  no  longer  dead  and  defaced, 
but  fashioned  like  unto  His  glorious  bocly  ;  and  so 
shall  we  be  ever  with  the  Lord.  Then  why  live 
another  hour,  why  go  into  desperate  battle,  without 
this  precious  Friend  ? 

"  Comrades  in  peril !  I  have  not  sought  to  work 
upon  your  fears  to-night,  but  rather  to  lead  you  to 
accept  a  faith  which  makes  even  cowards  brave,  and 
strong  men  lions  for  the  right.  We  have  reason  to 
think  that  we  shall  soon  meet  the  enemy ;  but  there 
14 


314  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

is  no  foe  on  earth,  or  in  hell  beneath,  that  can  strike  a 
fatal  blow  at  the  honest  Christ-believer  and  follower." 

To  Saville's  surprise,  the  preacher  had  kept  him 
a  listener  until.the  close  of  his  exhortation.  Then, 
with  a  shrug,  he  strode  away  into  the  darkness, 
saying,  "  Here,  I  suppose,  is  the  secret  of  it  all. 
Men  know  they  must  die ;  these  poor  fellows  are 
aware  that  they  may  be  knocked  on  the  head  within 
a  few  days.  They  all  want  to  live  after  they  are 
dead  (as  if  the  very  idea  were  not  absurd),  and  they 
give  a  ready  hearing  to  anybody  who  holds  out  the 
hope  that  they  may.  Well,  I  wouldn't  mind  an 
eternal  Elysium  myself,  if  I  could  have  the  fashion 
ing  of  it.  One  thing  is  certain — Vera  would  share 
it  with  me." 

As  he  was  threading  his  way  among  the  camp- 
fires,  toward  his  quarters,  he  heard  his  own  name 
mentioned,  and  naturally  paused  to  learn  in  what 
connection  it  was  used.  The  voice  came  from  be 
yond  a  clump  of  cedars  to  his  right,  and,  looking 
through  it,  he  saw,  just  below  a  ledge  of  rock,  a 
circle  of  visages,  differing  widely  in  character  from 
those  gathered  round  the  chaplain's  fire.  The 
physiognomy  of  Larry,  his  old  servant,  was  the  type 
of  the  majority  on  which  the  flames  were  flickering, 
although  the  expression  of  many  was  still  more  un 
promising.  But  the  bold,  handsome  face  of  his  wife, 
"  Captain  Molly,"  would  have  received  the  first  at* 
tention,  even  if  she  had  not  been  speaking. 

"  Is  it  where  yer  ould  masther,  Saville,  does  be 
goin'  out  in  the  woods  that  ye're  askin',  Larry?  " 

"  Yees." 


CAMP  FIRES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES.       315 

"Well,  I'm  a-thinkin',  should  ye  follow  his  trail, 
ye'd  foind  the  White  Witch  o'  the  Highlands." 

"  It's  a  long  day  since  she's  been  seen  or  heard 
on." 

"  He's  found  her,  I  warrant  ye;  an'  moighty  glad 
I  am  we  had  nothin'  to  do  wid  the  diviltry  when 
Barney  was  shot.  He  questioned  me  close,  an'  if 
I'd  been  a-lyin',  I  fear  he'd  a-cotched  me.  Wherever 
this  gal  o'  his'n  is,  folks  as  don't  want  their  heads 
broke  ud  better  let  her  alone." 

"  But  what  would  his  wife  say  to  his  galivantin' 
off  in  the  mountings  ?  "  asked  Larry. 

"Why  should  he  care?"  said  Molly  carelessly. 
"  If  what  ye  tell  me  is  thrue,  he's  got  a  divil  for  a 
wife,  and  may  well  look  for  a  betther  one." 

"  'Cordin'  to  that,"  snickered  Larry,  "  it's  me  that 
shud  go  galivantin'  off  in  the  mountings  too." 

A  loud  laugh  followed  this  sally. 

"  Thry  it  once,"  cried  Molly,  "  an'ye'll  foind  that 
the  divil  will  be  arther  ye  in  a  way  ye'll  not  forgit." 

"  Now  Molly,  me  darlint,  ye  knows  I  was  only 
a-givin'  ye  a  poke  in  the  ribs  in  sport,  so  ye  needn't 
guv  me  any  in  good  earnest.  My  ould  masther 
can  have  the  White  Witch  o'  the  Highlands,  and 
the  Black  Witch,  too,  for  all  o'  me." 

Saville  stayed  to  hear  no  more  of  their  low  talk, 
but  hastened  on,  his  cheeks  tingling  that  his  name 
had  been  coupled  with  that  of  the  maiden  under 
such  circumstances. 

He  sat  down  in  his  tent-in  no  enviable  mood,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  permitted  his  mind  to  dwell  on  the 
consequences  of  his  growing  intimacy  with  Vera. 


NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

After  all,  would  his  brother  officers,  would  the 
world,  take  a  more  charitable  view  than  that  which 
he  had  just  heard  expressed  ?  He  might  assert  that 
his  love  for  Vera  was  friendship,  brotherly  affection  ; 
but  he  plainly  foresaw  society's  shrug  of  incredulity. 
From  the  depths  of  his  heart,  also,  a  question  was 
beginning  to  arise, 

"  Is  your  love  for  Vera  fraternal  or  platonic 
only?"  And  he  found  that  he  could  not  give  a 
prompt  and  positive  answer.  Then  the  pledge  he 
had  made  on  the  memorable  Sabbath  evening,  when 
he  sacrificed  all  ties  to  his  patriotism,  rose  up  before 
him  like  a  spectre. 

"  I  shall  be  loyal  to  the  name  of  wife,  though  the 
reality  I  never  had." 

"  Curses  on  the  priest-ridden,  law-marred  world ! " 
he  muttered,  "  wherein  every  natural  impulse  is 
thwarted.  If  I  continue  to  act  the  part  of  a  brother 
toward  Vera,  society  will  point  its  finger  toward  us 
both  in  scoffing  unbelief,  and  imagine  the  worst.  If, 
because  she  is  so  truly  lovable,  I  come  to  love  her 
more  warmly,  and  seek  for  some  honorable  solution 
pf  the  problem,  society  will  heartlessly  tell  me  that 
there  is  none,  in  this  prudish  land,  save  open  shame. 
I  shall  be  informed  that  the  combination  of  woman, 
devil,  and  bigot,  in  New  York,  is  my  wife  ;  that  the 
mummery  in  the  church  made  us  one,  when  we  have 
nothing  in  common  except  our  hate  ;  and  that  it  is 
foul  sin  for  me  to  think  of  another.  Where  is  men's 
reason  ?  Why,  even  the  instinct  of  this  coarse,  un 
tutored  Irish  woman  hit  upon  a  better  philosophy. 
And  yet  so  it  is,  and  so  it  will  be  until  the  broad 


CAMP  FIXES  AND   SUBTLER  FLAMES. 


317 


and  rational  principles  which  are  revolutionizing 
France  are  accepted  and  acted  upon  here.  Oh!  that 
we  had  a  Voltaire  and  a  Rousseau  to  break  the 
chains  of  the  past,  and  teach  that  the  impulses  of 
the  heart  are  right !  But  now,  all  my  pure  and 
ennobling  affection  for  Vera,  and  her  snow-white 
love  for  me,  will  be  jumbled  in  the  same  category  as 
the.infidelity  of  this  woman,  Molly,  to  her  husband." 
Further  bitter  musings  were  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  an  orderly,  with  the  message  that  his 
presence  was  required  at  once  at  headquarters. 


318  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS. 

ON  reaching  the  tent  of  General  James  Clinton, 
Saville  found  all  the  leading  officers  of  the  gar 
rison  already  assembled,  and  was  informed  that  the 
enemy  were  advancing  up  the  river,  and  had  already 
landed  large  forces  at  Tarry  town  and  Verplanck's 
Point.  He  also  found  that  Governor  Clinton  had 
just  arrived,  with  a  considerable  reinforcement  of 
militia.  After  giving  such  directions  as  were  deemed 
necessary,  Governor  Clinton  said, 

"  The  enemy  will  probably  strike  Putnam  at  Peeks- 
kill  first,  but  we  shall  have  our  own  share  of  fight 
ing,  no  doubt,  and  may  have  to  do  the  most  of 
it.  It  is  well  known  to  you,  gentlemen,  that  the 
garrisons  are  not  as  strong  as  we  could  wish.  We 
must  double  our  strength  by  doubling  our  courage 
and  efforts.  I  shall  expect  every  man  tp  do  his 
whole  duty.  I  request  that  the  engineer  officers  do 
all  in  their  power  to  strengthen  the  unfinished  por 
tions  of  the  works." 

Throughout  the  remainder  of  the  night,  the  din 
of  labor  resounded,  and  only  toward  the  break  of 
day  was  Saville  able  to  get  a  little  sleep. 

On   awakening,   he  immediately  repaired  to  the 


THE   STORMING  OF   THE  FORTS. 


319 


governor's  tent  for  instructions,  and  had  scarcely 
reached  the  place,  when  Major  Logan,  who  had 
been  sent  with  one  hundred  men  on  a  scouting  ex 
pedition  beyond  the  Dunderberg,  returned,  with  the 
startling  information  that  about  forty  boats,  crowded 
with  British  troops,  had  landed  near  Stony  Point. 

Saville,  having  no  special  command,  was  willing  to 
do  anything  which  promised  active  and  exciting  ser 
vice  ;  he  therefore  volunteered  to  go  on  a  reconnois- 
sance.  Governor  Clinton,  who  had  learned  his  value 
in  such  employment  on  a  previous  occasion,  at  once 
accepted  his  offer,  and  gave  him,  as  a  support,  a 
lieutenant  and  thirty  men. 

Saville  and  his  party  proceeded  rapidly  along  the 
mountain-road  leading  from  Fort  Clinton  to  Haver- 
straw,  and,  when  between  three  and  four  miles  out, 
suddenly  met  the  vanguard  of  the  English  forces, 
upon  the  rapid  and  stealthy  march  which  had,  as  its 
object,  the  surprise  of  the  forts. 

The  small  American  detachment  was  peremptorily 
summoned  to  surrender. 

"  Give  'em  a  volley  as  our  answer,"  said  Saville  ; 
and  the  wooded  defile  was  at  once  filled  with  the 
preliminary  echoes  of  the  mighty  uproar  soon  to 
rage  among  the  Highlands. 

Under  the  cover  of  their  fire,  the  scouting  party 
retreated  rapidly  to  a  new  point  of  observation,  for 
tunately  none  being  wounded  by  the  return  fire  of 
the  enemy. 

After  some  further  skirmishing,  in  which  the  num 
bers  and  purposes  of  the  attacking  force  became  more 
apparent,  Saville  retreated  rapidly,  without  the  loss 


320  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

of  a  man,  and  reported.  In  the  mean  time,  patrols 
had  brought  word  that  the  enemy  were  also  ad 
vancing  around  Bear  Mountain,  to  the  rear  of  Fort 
Montgomery. 

"  Putnam  has  been  outwitted,"  said  Governor 
Clinton,  "  and  we've  got  to  take  all  the  blows.  Well, 
I  believe  in  giving  even  the  devil  his  due  ;  and,  in 
my  opinion,  Sir  Henry  Clinton  has  executed  a  mag 
nificent  piece  of  strategy.  He  really  does  honor  to 
the  name,  and  I  am  quite  inclined  to  claim  relation 
ship.  We  must  see  to  it,  James,  that  we  prove  that 
the  American  branch  of  the  family  has  not  degen 
erated,"  and  the  brothers  smiled  grimly  and  signifi 
cantly. 

Before  many  hours  passed,  Sir  Henry  himself 
would  have  been  among  the  first  to  admit  the  sturdi- 
ness  of  the  colonial  stock. 

"  It  is  now  past  noon,"  said  General  James  Clin 
ton,  "  and  yet  we  hear  nothing  from  Putnam.  It's 
very  strange !  " 

"  I  will  send  a  messenger  at  once  to  him,"  said  his 
brother,  and  a  man  by  the  name  of  Waterbury  was 
dispatched. 

"  I  hope  that  fellow  can  be  depended  upon,  for  I 
did  not  like  his  looks  over  much,"  said  James  Clinton. 
"  The  firing  is  growing  sharp  out  on  the  Bear  Moun 
tain  road,  and  we  must  have  reinforcements  soon,  if 
they  are  to  be  of  any  service.  There !  the  firing  has 
commenced  at  the  abatis,  where  the  road  passes 
Sinnipink  Pond.  I  will  return  to  Fort  Clinton  at 
once,  and  do  my  utmost  to  carry  out  the  measures 
we  have  concerted." 


THE   STORMING  OF   THE  FORTS. 


32I 


"  God  be  with  you,  brother!  Hit  hard  and  often, 
and  remember,  we  won't  lower  the  flag  while  we 
have  a  foot  of  ground  to  fight  on !  How  many  men 
did  you  say  were  at  the  abatis  by  the  pond  ?  " 

"  Over  a  hundred." 

"  Let  them  hold  the  point  obstinately.  Time  is 
worth  everything  to  us  now.  Troops  from  Putnam 
must  be  here  soon.  Farewell." 

"  Saville,"  continued  the  governor,  "  as  you  have 
no  command,  you  can  serve  me  best  by  acting  as 
an  aide.  Colonels  Bruyn  and  M'Claghrey  are  out 
on  the  Orange  Furnace  road  with  sixty  men.  Tell 
Colonel  Livingston  to  detach  thirty  more  to  their 
support.  Take  that  horse  yonder,  ride  out,  learn 
what  you  can,  and  report  as  soon  as  possible." 

Saville  urged  the  poor  beast  at  a  tremendous  pace 
up  the  rocky  way  ;  but,  by  the  time  he  reached  the 
point  of  conflict,  the  advance  skirmishers  of  the 
small  American  force  had  been  driven  in,  and  Colonel 
Campbell,  with  the  assaulting  column,  was  pressing 
on  as  rapidly  as  the  narrow  road,  leading  through  a 
wild,  rugged  pass,  permitted.  The  enemy  paused  a 
moment,  as  a  brass  field-piece  sent  a  ball  plowing  into 
their  ranks,  and  then,  with  the  courage  and  steadi 
ness  of  trained  soldiers,  filed  off,  on  either  side  of 
the  road,  into  the  partial  shelter  of  the  wooded  hill 
sides,  and  pressed  on  as  before,  in  the  face  of  a  brisk 
fire  of  small-arms.  Their  advance  was  so  rapid,  and 
the  road  so  rough  and  impracticable,  that  it  was 
found  impossible  to  extricate  the  field-piece,  and  it 
was  therefore  spiked  and  abandoned. 

With  these  tidings,  Saville  returned  to  the  fort. 


322  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

But,  while  present  at  the  affray  over  the  field-piece, 
his  attention  had  been  caught  by  the  occasional 
report  of  a  single  rifle  from  a  shaggy  hill-side,  along 
which  he  knew  the  enemy  must  be  advancing,  and  he 
correctly  surmised  that  it  was  the  exile,  striking  at 
the  power  he  so  greatly  dreaded.  Vera's  dream  and 
presentiment  flashed  into  his  mind,  and  he  mut 
tered, 

"Poor  child!  this  firing  no  doubt  causes  her  to 
imagine  that  all  her  forebodings  of  evil  will  come 
true.  I  hope  I  shall  live  to  laugh  her  out  of  such 
fancies  for  the  future." 

On  his  way  back  to  the  fort,  he  had  observed  that 
Colonel  Lamb  had  posted  himself  in  a  commanding 
position,  with  a  twelve-pounder ;  and  the  veteran 
had  grimly  remarked  that  they  would  hear  from  him 
soon. 

"  Return,  and  request  Colonel  Lamb  to  hold  the 
enemy  in  check  as  long  as  possible.  Then  cross  to 
Fort  Clinton,  and  bring  me  word  how  things  are 
going  there.  Good  God !  Why  doesn't  Putnam 
send  me  help  ?  "  said  Governor  Clinton,  who  was 
chafing  like  a  lion  in  the  toils. 

Saville  made  the  fire  fly  along  the  flinty  road,  and 
soon  regained  the  crest  of  the  hill  upon  which  Col 
onel  Lamb  had  posted  himself  with  his  formidable 
twelve-pounder.  The  advance  party,  under  Colonel 
Bruyn,  were  marching  around  to  the  rear  of  the  gun, 
within  supporting  distance.  As  soon  as  the  head  of 
the  English  column  showed  itself,  Lamb  opened  with 
the  precision  of  aim  for  which  he  was  famous,  and 
his  quick  firing,  with  the  havoc  which  it  made,  once 


THE  STORMING    OF   THE  FORTS.  323 

again,  and  more  decidedly,  checked  the  hostile 
advance. 

The  sharp-shooters  under  Colonel  Bruyn  were 
seeking  stations  among  the  trees  and  rocks,  from 
which  to  gall  the  enemy  with  small-arms,  and  aid  in 
maintaining  the  position,  when,  unfortunately,  the 
cannon  with  which  Colonel  Lamb  was  doing  so  much 
execution  burst.  The  British  troops,  with  a  loud 
huzza,  rushed  forward,  and  the  Americans  retreated, 
fighting,  to  the  fort. 

When  Saville  reached  Fort  Clinton,  the  abatis  at 
Lake  Sinnipink  had  been  carried,  and  such  of  its 
defenders  as  had  not  been  killed  and  disabled  were 
retreating  rapidly,  with  the  enemy  close  upon  them. 

Coolly  walking  the  parapet  of  the  fort,  with  the 
bullets  already  whistling  round  him,  was  the  tall 
form  of  Chaplain  Gano  ;  and  his  intrepid  bearing 
had  an  excellent  influence  on  the  militia,  most  of 
whom  were  now,  for  the  first  time,  to  face  the  dread 
ed  Hessians,  who  were,  to  many  of  the  simple  rus 
tics  of  that  day,  monsters  rather  than  men.  Fearful 
stories  concerning  them  were  rife,  the  mildest  of 
which  being  that,  as  they  were  unacquainted  with 
the  English  tongue,  they  neither  understood  nor 
heeded  offers  of  surrender  or  cries  for  mercy  ;  but 
bayoneted  indiscriminately  all  who  fell  into  their 
hands. 

The  survivors  of  the  conflict  at  the  abatis  brought 
word  that  these  terrible  Hessians  were  advancing  in 
vast  numbers,  at  which  poor  Larry  so  quaked  that 
he  could  scarcely  serve  his  gun,  and  not  a  few  others 
wished  themselves  safe  in  their  humble  homes.  But 


324  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

11  Captain  Molly  "  rallied  the  spirits  and  courage  of 
those  near  her,  by  springing  on  the  rampart,  and 
calling,  in  her  shrillest  tones, 

"  Come  on,  Hessians  or  Red-coats ;  we'll  trate  ye 
all  the  same,  and'll  put  more  bullets  an*  balls  intil 
yees  than  ye'll  loike  for  supper." 

"  Och  !  Molly,  me  darlint,  get  down,"  cried  Larry. 
"  What  wud  we  all  do  an*  ye  shud  sthop  a  Hessian 
bullit  ?  " 

But  Molly  recklessly  kept  her  exposed  position, 
gesticulating  and  firing  volleys  of  epithets  toward 
the  advancing  foe,  until  ordered  down  by  one  of  the 
officers.  She  then  descended,  amid  the  loud  huzzas 
and  laughter  of  scores  of  poor  fellows  whose  voices 
would  soon  be  hushed. 

Having  received  such  message  as  General  James 
Clinton  desired  to  send  to  his  brother,  Saville  gal 
loped  back  to  Fort  Montgomery,  and  barely  escaped 
being  intercepted  by  the  environing  forces. 

It  was  now  four  o'clock,  and  both  the  forts  were 
fairly  invested.  The  two  brave  men  who  command 
ed  them  were  still  hoping  for  aid  from  Putnam, 
and  determined  to  make  as  obstinate  a  resistance  as 
their  inadequate  forces  permitted. 

The  enemy  gave  but  brief  respite,  and,  after  a  rapid 
disposition  of  the  assaulting  columns,  pushed  for 
ward  to  the  attack.  By  the  aid  of  his  glass,  Saville 
could  see  his  old  acquaintance,  Colonel  Beverly 
Robinson,  leading  forward  many  neighbors  and  fel 
low  townsmen  whom  he  knew. 

It  was  evident  that  the  enemy  did  not  calculate 
upon  a  very  stubborn  resistance,  and  hoped  to  carry 


THE   STORMING  OF   THE  FORTS.  32$ 

the  works  by  a  simultaneous  attack.  Therefore 
they  advanced  confidently,  and  in  imposing  military 
array,  expecting  to  awe  and  intimidate  the  rustic 
soldiery  opposed  to  them.  But  the  terrific  and  well- 
directed  fire,  both  of  cannon  and  small-arms,  that 
circled  around  the  ramparts  of  both  the  forts,  soon 
taught  them  their  error,  and  showed  that  the  keys  of 
the  Highlands  could  only  be  won  by  a  bloody  battle. 

Again  and  again  they  advanced  to  the  charge, 
but  only  to  be  repulsed  and  driven  back,  strewing 
the  broken  and  rocky  region  with  their  dead  and 
wounded. 

An  hour  passed — an  hour  of  bloody,  obstinate 
fighting,  on  both  sides — in  which  many  souls,  hot 
with  wrath,  mad  with  excitement,  passed  away  from 
the  scene  of  conflict. 

But,  to  the  scanty  garrison,  the  loss  of  men  was  a 
far  more  serious  matter  than  to  the  full  battalions  of 
the  enemy.  The  lines  of  Fort  Montgomery  were 
extensive,  and  but  partially  finished  ;  and  Governor 
Clinton  was  able  to  repulse  all  attacks  thus  far  only 
by  good  generalship  and  the  indomitable  spirit  of 
his  men. 

The  British  officers,  however,  had  by  this  time 
gauged  quite  correctly  the  forces  opposed  to  them, 
and  were  satisfied  that  they  could  eventually  carry 
the  works  by  the  mere  weight  of  numbers.  In  order 
to  save  himself  further  loss,  Sir  Henry  Clinton 
ordered  a  brief  cessation  of  hostilities,  and  sent  in 
a  flag  of  truce,  with  the  dire  threat  that,  unless  both 
the  garrisons  surrendered  within  five  minutes,  he 
would  put  all  to  the  sword. 


326  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

Lieutenant -Colonel  Livingston  was  ordered  to 
receive  the  flag,  and  instructed  to  inform  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  that  the  Americans  would  defend  the  forts 
to  the  very  last  extremity. 

"  This  putting  everybody  to  the  sword  is  a  game 
that  two  can  play  at,"  remarked  the  governor 
grimly.  He  still  had  hopes  that  a  reinforcement 
from  Peekskill  might  arrive  at  any  moment,  and  felt 
sure  that  if  he  could  maintain  the  position  until  the 
following  day,  he  would  certainly  receive  relief. 

Having  defiantly  refused  to  capitulate,  nothing 
now  remained  for  the  garrisons  but  the  most  des 
perate  resistance.  As  the  men  in  Fort  Clinton  saw 
the  flag  retire  from  the  open  space  where  the  parley 
had  been  held,  they  set  their  teeth,  and  many  faces 
grew  white  and  stern  with  the  determination  to  sell 
life  dearly. 

The  October  day  was  drawing  to  a  close.  The 
sky  was  overcast  with  clouds,  as  if  heaven,  offended 
at  the  rude  clamor  of  earthly  passion,  were  frowning 
upon  the  scene. 

As  the  flag  disappeared  within  the  hostile  ranks, 
there  was,  for  a  few  moments,  an  awful  lull  and  sus 
pense.  The  echoes  of  the  preceding  strife  had  died 
away,  and  there  was  now  an  ominous  and  oppressive 
silence,  broken  only  by  the  groans  of  the  wounded 
and  dying.  Then,  from  the  environing  foe,  came  a 
hoarse  and  increasing  murmur  of  rage.  Commands 
and  orders  were  given  rapidly,  and  the  storm  of  war 
broke  forth  more  vehemently  than  before. 

The  British  ships,  under  Admiral  Hotham,  had 
now  come  up  within  range,  and  commenced  bom- 


THE  STORMING  OF   THE  FORTS. 


327 


barding  the  forts  and  the  American  vessels  that 
were  anchored  above  the  chain  and  chevaux-de-frise^ 
which  had  been  stretched  across  the  river  for  the 
purpose  of  obstructing  navigation.  The  conflict 
was  thus  raging  upon  the  water  as  well  as  on  the 
shore,  the  heavy  guns  of  each  party  adding  greatly 
to  the  fearful  uproar  resounding  among  the  moun 
tains. 

The  sun  was  setting  behind  obscuring  clouds,  and, 
in  the  early  and  deepening  gloom,  the  flashes  from 
the  firelocks  and  cannon  grew  more  lurid  and  dis 
tinct,  increasing  the  terrors  of  the  scene.  The  gar 
rison  of  Fort  Montgomery,  thinned  by  the  strife 
which  had  already  occurred,  and  compelled  to  de 
fend  works  far  too  extensive  and  imperfect,  consid 
ering  its  scanty  number,  was  fighting  heroically,  and 
had  thus  far  repulsed  the  most  determined  assaults. 
But  the  governor's  forces  were  inadequate,  and  the 
enemy  were  gaining  and  holding  positions,  in  the 
broken  region  in  the  rear  of  the  fort,  that  were 
menacingly  near  the  American  lines. 

At  one  of  these  threatened  points,  Saville,  who 
was  sweeping  the  field  with  his  glass,  saw  a  heavy 
massing  of  British  grenadiers,  and  he  directed  the 
governor's  attention  thither.  Lord  Rawdon  was 
preparing  for  his  memorable  charge,  which,  with  the 
supporting  attacks  all  along  the  line,  decided  the 
fate  of  the  day.  As  a  chivalric  volunteer,  at  his  side 
was  his  friend,  the  Count  Gabrouski,  a  Polish  aide- 
de-camp  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton. 

The  governor,  for  a  moment,  scanned,  with  a  heavy 
frown,  this  thunderbolt,  whose  shock  he  must  soon 


328 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART 


sustain,  and  then  made  such  disposition  to  receive 
it  as  was  possible  in  the  brief  time  allowed  him. 

"  If  we  do  not  repulse  this  attack,  and  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,"  he  said  to  Saville,  "  cross  to 
Fort  Clinton,  by  the  foot-path,  and  tell  my  brother 
not  to  surrender,  but  cut  his  way  out  among  the 
hills.  The  darkness  will  favor  this." 

Slowly  and  steadily  at  first,  but  with  increasing 
speed,  the  assaulting  column  advanced  through  the 
gloom,  becoming  every  second  more  distinct  and 
terrible.  Cannon  and  musket  balls  made  gaps,  but 
the  ranks  closed  up,  leaving  no  more  trace  than  the 
smooth  surface  of  a  smitten  lake.  The  foremost 
fell.  The  point  of  this  human  entering  wedge  ap 
peared  to  crumble,  as  it  reached  the  fort.  The  tall 
Polish  count  seemed  at  one  moment  a  Homeric 
demi-god,  as  he  was  about  to  spring  across  the 
fosse  upon  the  rampart.  A  second  later,  he  was  a 
weak,  dying  man,  with  only  strength  to  gasp,  to  the 
grenadier  who  bent  over  him, 

"Take  this  sword  to  Lord  Rawdon,  and  tell  him 
the  owner  died  like  a  soldier." 

The  American  resistance  was  as  vain  as  it  was 
heroic.  The  assaulting  column,  like  a  black  river, 
flowed  steadily  on,  and  by  its  enormous  weight  alone 
pressed  everything  back. 

"To  my  brother,  quick,  with  my  message,"  cried 
the  governor  to  Saville ;  and  by  the  time  Saville 
extricated  himself  from  the  fort,  a  hand-to-hand 
metie  had  commenced. 

In  his  swift  transit  across  the  deep  ravine,  Vera's 
dream  again  occurred  to  him,  with  an  ominous  sig- 


THE   STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS.  339 

nificance,  and  his  face  grew  white  and  rigid,  with  the 
determination  unwaveringly  to  meet  thewoist.  But 
as,  in  this  moment  of  solitude  and  respite  from  the 
mad  excitement  of  battle,  he  realized  his  danger, 
and  therefore  hers,  in  her  isolation,  his  heart  sick 
ened.  ** 

When  he  entered  Fort  Clinton,  the  situation  was 
as  desperate  as  it  had  been  at  Fort  Montgomery  at 
the  moment  of  his  departure.  All  was  confusion. 
In  the  increasing  darkness,  he  could  not  discover 
General  Clinton.  At  several  points,  the  enemy 
seemed  pouring  over  the  ramparts.  Shouts,  yells, 
curses,  groans,  the  clangor  of  weapons,  and  crash  of 
musketry  deafened  and  bewildered  him.  He  also 
noted,  as  proof  that  the  enemy  were  taking  the  fort, 
that  all  firing  of  cannon  had  ceased  on  the  part  of 
the  Americans.  Suddenly  he  heard,  above  the  up 
roar,  a  shrill  voice,  which  he  knew  to  be  "  Captain 
Molly's,"  crying, 

"  Back,  ye  spalpeen  !     Fire  the  gun." 

"  Here,  at  least,"  he  thought,  "  must  be  enough  of 
our  troops  to  form  a  rallying-point,"  and  drawing  his 
sword,  he  rushed  toward  the  place  from  whence  came 
the  voice.  Fugitives  rushed  against  him  ;  a  second 
later  he  saw  Larry  break  from  the  grasp  of  his  wife, 
throw  down  his  lighted  match,  and  fly. 

"  Divil  a  sthep  will  I  rin,  till  that  gun's  fired," 
cried  Molly,  seizing  the  match  ;  and,  in  the  faces  of 
the  enemy,  who  were  climbing  the  rampart,  she 
touched  off  the  last  cannon  that  was  discharged  in 
Fort  Clinton. 

All  this  passed  in  a  very  few  seconds.     With  a 


330  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

wild  Irish  whoop  of  exultation,  Molly  turned  to 
escape,  when  a  Hessian  lieutenant  laid  his  iron 
grasp  upon  her,  and  raised  his  heavy  saber  to  strike. 

"  Wretch  !  would  you  kill  a  woman  ?"  cried  Saville, 
and  he  ran  the  man  through  the  body. 

"The  Holy  Vargin  bless  ye!  Misther  Saville," 
ejaculated  Molly,  springing  away  like  a  deer,  the 
moment  the  grasp  on  her  arm  relaxed.  But,  looking 
back  as  she  ran,  she  saw  Saville  fall,  from  a  savage 
bayonet  thrust  in  his  breast.  Then,  the  human  wave 
that  was  surging  into  the  fort  swept  over  him. 
Under  the  cover  of  darkness,  she  leaped  the  parapet 
on  the  opposite  side,  scrambled  down  the  steep  bank 
into  the  ravine  of  Poplopen  Creek,  and  escaped  with 
many  other  fugitives,  among  whom  was  General 
James  Clinton,  wounded,  but  indomitable  in  his 
purpose  not  to  fall  into  the  enemy's  hands. 

Governor  Clinton  was  also  among  the  last  to  leave 
Fort  Montgomery.  On  reaching  the  shore  of  the 
river,  he  saw  a  boat  pushing  away,  and  hailed  it. 
The  officer  in  charge  knew  his  voice,  and  caused  the 
boat  to  return.  But  it  was  found  to  be  already 
loaded  to  the  gunwale,  and  the  governor  would  not 
endanger  the  safety  of  its  occupants  by  entering  it. 
The  loyal  officer  generously  offered  to  give  up  his 
place,  but  the  governor,  equally  generous,  would 
not  listen  to  this.  The  enemy  were  pressing  closely, 
and  it  was  agreed  to  try  the  experiment  of  adding 
the  weight  of  one  more,  and,  to  the  joy  of  all,  the 
boat  was  still  above  the  water's  edge.  The  perilous 
transit  was  made  in  safety,  and  on  the  further  shore 
were  found  five  hundred  men,  whom  the  bewildered 


THE   STORMING   OF   THE  FORTS.  331 

Putnam  had  at  last  sent,  but  too  late  to  be  of  any 
service. 

The  man  Waterbury,  whom  the  governor  had  dis 
patched  to  Peekskill,  had  treacherously  delayed  his 
departure,  and,  on  the  following  day,  deserted  to  the 
enemy. 

On  the  capture  of  the  forts,  the  American  vessels 
above  the  chevaux-de-frise  slipped  their  cables,  and 
tried  to  escape  up  the  river ;  but  the  wind  was  ad 
verse,  and  their  crews,  to  avoid  capture,  set  them  on 
fire,  and  abandoned  them.  Then  followed  scenes 
that  were  weird  and  awful  in  the  extreme,  forming 
an  appropriate  close  to  the  bloody  drama  of  the  day. 
By  reason  of  the  clouds,  night  had  come  on  suddenly, 
and  was  very  dark.  When  the  torches  were  applied 
to  the  ships,  every  sail  was  set,  the  cannon  were 
loaded,  and  there  was  an  abundance  of  ammunition 
in  the  magazines.  In  a  few  moments,  they  became 
pyramids  of  fire,  as  the  flames,  fanned  by  the  gale, 
leaped  from  deck  to  mast-head.  The  rugged,vprecip- 
itous  shores  were  lighted  up  as  with  the  glare  of 
noon,  and  the  neighboring  mountains  seemed  like 
a  group  of  giants  standing  around  their  mighty 
camp-fires. 

As  the  flames  reached  the  heavy  guns,  they  were 
discharged,  not  as  in  battle,  but  irregularly,  fitfully, 
as  if  some  capricious  demon  were  directing  all  in 
accordance  with  its  mad  impulses. 

The  region  where  the  vessels  were  drifting  has  ever 
been  famous  for  its  echoes,  and,  from  the  first,  the 
clamor  of  the  strife  had  been  repeated  and  aug 
mented,  until  it  might  have  seemed  that  the  com  bat- 


332 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


ants  were  innumerable.  But  when  the  fire  reached 
the  magazines  of  the  ships,  volcanic  explosions  fol 
lowed,  at  which  even  the  granite  hills  appeared  to 
tremble,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  deep  reverberations 
never  would  cease.  Old  Gula,  cowering  in  her  rocky 
niche,  muttered, 

"  Dat's  de  mos'  awful  voice  I'se  eber  heard.  Fse 
afeared  on't." 

The  burning  wrecks  were  at  last  quenched  beneath 
the  water.  After  all,  the  passions  of  men  cannot 
long  disturb  nature's  deep  repose,  and  soon  silence 
and  night  held  undisputed  sway  on  the  river,  and 
among  the  mountains. 


THE    WIFE'S  QUEST  AMONG    THE  DEAD.     333 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  WIFE'S  QUEST  AMONG  THE  DEAD. 

FOR  a  long  time,  lights  had  glanced  hither  and 
thither  on  the  battle-field  and  within  the  forts ; 
and,  to  one  eager  watcher  in  the  distance,  their  move 
ments  had  seemed  as  errp.lic  and  meaningless  as 
the  glimmer  of  fireflies  in  June.  The  surgeons,  with 
their  assistants,  were  gathering  up  the  wounded,  and 
conveying  them  to  points  where  they  could  receive 
such  attention  as  the  hour  and  place  permitted. 

At  last,  Fort  Clinton  was  deserted  by  all  except 
an  occasional  sentinel,  and  those  who  still  lay  within 
its  walls  were  very  quiet. 

At  an  early. hour  in  the  evening,  its  parapet  was 
crossed  by  two  British  officers,  one  of  whom  car 
ried  a  lantern,  and  seemed  bent  on  an  eager  quest. 

"  I  say,  Vennam,"  asked  his  companion,  "  why 
are  you  so  anxious  to  find  this  Saville  ?  " 

"  For  the  sake  of  his  wife." 

"  Nonsense  !  His  wife  will  shed  no  tears  if  you 
find  him  with  a  bullet  through  his  head.  If  all  is 
true  that  I  have  heard,  she  hates  him  like  sin." 

"  Far  more  than  sin,  mon  ami"  and  the  lantern 
that  he  held  down  that  he  might  peer  into  a  dead 
man's  face,  revealed  the  traces  of  recklessness  and 


334 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


dissipation  in  his  own.  "  Indeed,  I  scarcely  think 
she  hates  sin  at  all.  You  are  right,  however,  in  one 
respect ;  no  tears  will  be  shed,  if  I  can  find  him  in 
the  condition  of  this  carrion  here,  unless  they  are 
tears  of  joy.  Still,  for  her  sake,  I  am  looking  for 
her  husband  ;  and,  I  may  add,  for  my  own.  Know 
ing  how  glad  she  would  be  to  find  him  here,  snooz 
ing  quietly  in  the  eternal  sleep  of  which  he  prates, 
I,  as  her  proxy,  am  looking  for  him,  as  I  promised. 
He  is  not  among  the  wounded  or  prisoners,  as  far 
as  I  can  learn  ;  if  I  cannot  find  him  among  the  dead, 
he  must  have  escaped,  and  we  shall  have  reason  to 
curse  our  luck." 

"Well,  if  you  find  him  here,  and  food  for  the 
crows,  what  then?" 

"  Then  I  invite  you  to  my  wedding." 

"  Wedding,  indeed  !  I  doubt  that !  You  are  not 
one  to  trammel  yourself  with  a  wife." 

"  I  confess  I  have  had  prejudices  against  the  holy 
state  of  matrimony,  but  any  other  relation  with  my 
present  lovely  charmer  would  involve  half  a  dozen 
duels,  and  with  good  shots.  I  wouldn't  have  a 
ghost  of  a  chance  in  running  the  gauntlet,  and  so 
I  must  emulate  the  example  of  the  good  King 
David,  and  get  her  husband  out  of  the  way.  I 
snatched  a  musket  and  fired  at  him  twice  to-day, 
but  for  once  the  devil  did  not  help  his  own." 

"  By  St.  George  !  Vennam,  I  should  think  the 
devil  would  be  afraid  of  you."  % 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  was  the  reckless  response.  "  Julie 
Saville  Ashburton  is  not,  and  she  is  -the  most  mag- 
nificent  creature  I've  ever  seen,  and  I've  been  some- 


THE    WIFE'S  QUEST  AMONG   THE  DEAD.     335 

thing  of  a  connoisseur  in  several  lands.  Besides, 
she's  an  heiress,  which,  to  a  man  of  my  tastes,  is 
no  small  consideration." 

"  By  St.  George!  Vennam,  this  turning  up  of 
dead  men's  faces  is  grim  business.  I'm  getting  sick 
of  it." 

11  Well,  well !  you  are  not  playing  for  the  stake 
that  I  am,  so  I  don't  wonder.  Perhaps  I  may  find 
him  in  the  morning.  Hold  !  who  is  that  lying  be 
hind  yonder  big  Hessian  ?  That's  an  officer's  uni 
form.  O  ye  Plutonian  gods  !  here  he  is !  dead,  too, 
as  the  immortal  Caesar.  That  bayonet-thrust  would 
have  killed  an  ox.  Here's  to  thee,  Julie,  and  our 
wedding-bells  ;  "  and,  drawing  a  flask  of  wine  from 
his  pocket,  he  drank  deeply,  and  then  passed  it  to 
his  companion. 

"  And  will  the  bells  be  rung  soon  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  much  we  shall  make  her  proud  rela 
tions  yield.  Up  to  a  certain  point,  she  always  has 
her  own  way.  A  soldier's  life  is  too  uncertain  to 
wait  upon  the  slow  forms  of  decorous  custom.  Be 
sides,  in  this  case,  there  will  be  no  '  funeral  baked 
meats'  to  grow  cold.  There,  I'll  take  his  sword, 
if  I  can  withdraw  it  from  this  beastly  Hessian,  and 
that  will  be  proof  positive  that  I  saw  him  dead. 
Farewell,  now,  most  accommodating  of  husbands ! 
your  sleep  may  be  as  (  eternal '  as  you  like;"  and 
the  human  ghoul,  who  had  been  feasting  his  eyes 
on  the  dead,  disappeared,  in  the  darkness,  toward 
Fort  Montgomery. 


336  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 
VERA'S  SEARCH  AMONG  THE  DEAD. 

THE  Sunday  evening  following  the  departure  of 
Saville-had  been  to  Vera  one  of  peculiar  sad 
ness  and  depression.  "  If  I  only  had  my  dear  old 
Bible,"  she  thought,  "  and  could  turn  to  some  of 
God's  promises,  perhaps  they  would  comfort  and  re 
assure  me  ;  but,  in  a  way  that  I  cannot  understand, 
they  have  grown  vague,  and  He  seems  far  off." 
•  Still,  she  again  and  again  tried  to  lift  her  heart  to 
heaven  in  prayer ;  but  the  image  of  Saville  would 
enter,  and  absorb  every  thought,  and  the  present 
iment  of  some  evil  or  danger  weighed  down  her 
spirits  with  increasing  despondency. 

The  night  passed  mainly  in  sleepless  imaginings 
of  what  might  happen  ;  but,  with  the  light  of  Mon 
day  morning,  she  tried  to  throw  off  the  incubus,  and 
busy  herself  with  the  tasks  which  she  knew  were 
pleasing  to  him. 

She  noted  that  her  father  appeared  restless,  and 
that  he  at  last  took  his  rifle,  and  disappeared  among 
the  hills. 

About  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  she  thought 
she  heard,  faint  and  far  away,  the  report  of  fire 
arms,  but  tried  to  ascribe  the  impression  to  her 


VERA  'S  SEARCH  AMONG   THE  DEAD. 


337 


over-wrought  and  anxious  state.  But  when  the  skir 
mishing  commenced  on  the  Orange  Furnace  road, 
and  1;here  was  no  longer  room  for  doubt,  her  heart 
sank,  with  such  an  overwhelming  foreboding  of  evil, 
that  she  almost  fainted. 

But  her  native  vigor  and  her  strong  affection  for 
Saville  soon  banished  all  weakness.  If  her  present 
iment  had  any  foundation,  it  might  be  that  even  her 
hand  could  reach  and  minister  to  him.  While~Vera 
had  inherited  her  mother's  gentleness,  she  also  had 
her  readiness  to  suffer  anything  for  the  Sake  of  one 
she  loved. 

Summoning  Tascar,  she  bade  him  prepare  at  once 
to  accompany  her  toward  Fort  Montgomery. 

"  Take  a  small  ax,  some  food,  and  materials  for 
kindling  a  fire,"  she  said. 

At  the  same  time  she  herself  took  some  band 
ages,  a  flask  of  brandy  that  Saville  had  brought,  and 
(what  seemed  a  strange  act  in  so  gentle  a  maiden) 
she  also  concealed,  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  a  keen- 
bladed  hunting-knife. 

"  God  grant  I  may  have  no  use  for  this  !"  she 
sighed ;  "  but  I  have  been  taught  what  some  men 
are." 

By  the  time  that  the  first  report  of  the  field-piece 
was  echoing  through  the  mountains,  they  were  on 
their  way. 

With  a  boldness  which  greatly  taxed  poor  Tas- 
car's  courage,  she  approached  so  near  the  fort,  that 
two  or  three  half-spent  cannon  balls  splintered  the 
rocks  a  little  below  her  hidden  outlook.  Her  eyes 
dilated  with  horror,  as  she"  watched  the  bloody  con- 
15 


338 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


flict  that  was  taking  place  almost  at  her  feet.  Her 
keen  eyesight  enabled  her  to  see  men  falling  within 
the  fort,  as  the  strong  north  wind  swept  aside  the 
smoke.  At  times  she  could  scarcely  resist  the  wild 
impulse  to  rush  through  the  ranks  of  the  interven 
ing  enemy,  and  assure  herself  that  Saville  was  not 
among  those  who  lay  motionless  within  the  ram 
parts,  or  who  were  being  carried  to  a  more  shel 
tered  position.  Soon  all  became  dusky  and  obscure 
in  the  early  descending  night.  The  lurid  flashes 
grew  more  distinct,  and  these  indicated  that  the  be 
siegers  were  drawing  continually  nearer  the  besieged. 
As  the  lines  of  fire  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  she 
pressed  her  hands  upon  her  throbbing  heart.  Then 
there  came  a  great  shout.  With  lips  parted,  and 
eyes  wild  with  terror,  she  sprang  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff.  A  dark  mass  was  entering  the  fort.  The 
flashes  became  intermingled,  irregular;  they  receded 
toward  the  river  and  the  northeast  side  of  the  fort, 
and  at  last  ceased. 

She  sat  down,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  as  she  moaned  shudderingly, 

"  He  is  lying  yonder,  bleeding  or  dying.  I  feel 
it — I  know  it !  O  Tascar  !  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

But  the  poor  boy  could  give  no  advice  in  this 
emergency. 

Voices  approached,  and  soon  a  stream  of  fugitives 
escaping  to  the  mountains  began  to  pass  near  where 
they  had  posted  themselves. 

"  Quick,  Tascar !  "  said  Vera.  "  Let  us  go  to  the 
edge  of  the  path.  You  ask  for  Mr.  Saville,  and  say 
you  are  his  servant.  I  will  hide  within  hearing." 


V ERA'S  SEARCH  AMONG    THE  DEAD. 


339 


This  plan  was  at  once  carried  out. 

"  O  God  !  grant  that  he  may  be  among  these  who 
have  survived,"  she  sighed. 

In  response  to  Tascar's  eager  questions,  several 
replied  that  they  had  seen  Saville  during  the  fight, 
but  did  not  know  where  he  was  now. 

The  last  weary  and  wounded  straggler  seeming 
ly  had  passed,  and  Vera's  hope  was  dying,  when 
another  step  was  heard,  and  a  woman's  voice  was 
heard  complaining. 

"  I  hope  poor  Larry's  aloive.  I've  tried  so  long  to 
foind  him,  I've  got  ahint  all  the  rest." 

"  O  Captain  Molly !  "  began  Tascar. 

"  Och !  ye  spalpeen  ;  how  ye  stharted  me.  Me 
nerves  is  all  shuck  up  !  " 

"But,  hab  you  seen  Mas'r  Saville?  " 

"  Is  ye  the  little  nig  he  had  a  few  days,  and  thin 
sent  off  in  the  mountings?  " 

"  Yeh  ;  and  I  wants  to  find  him  po'ful  bad." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  tell  ye,  I'm  afeard  ye  won't,  God 
rest  his  sowl ! " 

With  a  wild  cry,  Vera  sprang  out,  and  grasped 
the  woman's  arm. 

"  Speak  ;  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Holy  Vargin  !  "  gasped  Molly.  "  I  thought  yees 
was  a  cat  o'  the  mountings.  Be  ye  the  one  they 
call  the  white  witch  ?  " 

"  No ;  I'm  a  poor,  orphaned  girl ;  and  Mr.  Saville 
was  my  brother — my  only  friend.  Tell  me,  have 
you  seen  him?" 

"  Now,  bless  the  poor  young  crather's  heart,  what 
kin  I  tell  her  ? "  groaned  Molly,  turning  away  and 
beginning  to  sob. 


340 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


"  You  have  told  me  all,"  said  Vera,  feeling  as  if 
turning  into  stone.  "  He  is  dead." 

"  I'm  afeard  he  is,  unless  the  saints  has  kept  him 
aloive  for  the  good  turn  he  did  for  sich  a  poor  wicked 
divil  as  I  be.  He  saved  me  life — he  kilt  the  big 
Hessian  as  was  killin'  me — ochone,  ochone  !  "  and 
Molly,  in  the  exuberance  of  her  feeling,  sat  down, 
and  rocking  herself  back  and  forth,  uttered  a  wild 
Irish  wail  of  sorrow. 

Vera's  face  grew  almost  as  rigid  as  the  granite  on 
which  she  stood.  After  a  few  moments,  she  said, 

"  You  say  he  saved  your  life  ?  " 

11  He  did,  ochone  !  he  did,  God  rest  his  sowl  !  "    , 

"  If  any  one  had  saved  my  life,"  continued  Vera, 
in  a  tone  that  was  almost  taunting,  "  I  would  not 
sit  down  and  weakly  whine  about  him." 

"  Now  what  do  ye  mane  by  that  ?  "  cried  Molly, 
starting  up,  and  dashing  away  her  tears. 

"  I  mean  that  if  he  saved  your  life,  you  ought  to 
be  willing  to  try  to  save  his.  You  are  a  strong 
woman,  and  have  lived  among  soldiers  ;  but  I  will 
see  if  you  are  as  brave  as  a  timid  young  girl.  Will 
you  go  with  me,  and  bring  him  away,  dead  or 
alive  ?  " 

"  Faix  an*  I  will,"  cried  Molly  sturdily.  "  I  loikes 
this  betther'n  cryin'  about  him.  Besides,  I  know 
jist  where  to  look  for  him.  It  was  behint  Larry's 
gun  he  fell,  and  I  could  go  there  wid  me  eyes  blind 
ed.  What's  more,  no  gal,  nor  man  nayther,  dares 
do  what  Molly  O'Flarharty  darsent." 

But  Captain  Molly's  heroic  fire  was  suddenly 
quenched  for  a  few  moments;  for  Vera  threw  her- 


V ERA'S  SEARCH  AMONG   THE  DEAD.         341 

self  upon  her  neck,  with  sobs  that  caused  the  young 
girl's  slight  frame  to  quiver  almost  convulsively. 

"  Ye  poor  little  tender-hearted  crather,"  said 
Molly,  crying  in  sympathy;  uyees  jist  as  human  as 
T  be ;  and  I,  like  a  pig-headed  fool,  was  a-thinkin* 
ye  was  a  witch  !  Yees  isn't  able  to  go  on  any  sich 
dare-divil  irrend  as  snatchin'  a  body  out  o'  the  jaws 
of  that  orful  baste  they  call  the  British  lion." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Vera,  growing  calm.  "  I 
shall  be  the  better  for  these  tears.  I  am,  indeed, 
but  a  weak  child ;  but  for  Mr.  Saville  I  could  die  a 
thousand  deaths.  Come." 

"Well,"  said  Molly,  with  a  shrug,  "it's  only 
honest  in  me  to  risk  one  life  for  him,  afther  what  he 
did  for  me.  So  I'm  wid  ye." 

"You  hab  been  kind  to  my  ole  mudder,"  said 
Tascar,  "and  I'll  go  wid  you,  too.  Mas'r  Saville  is 
po'ful  heavy,  and'll  take  a  sight  ob  liftin'." 

"We  must  wait  a  bit,"  said  Molly,  "till  them 
Britishers  git  the  wounded  gathered  in.  That's 
what  they  are  doin'  now  where  them  lights  is  movin' 
'round." 

"  But  they  will  'carry  him  off  to  die  somewhere 
else,"  cried  Vera,  in  great  distress. 

"  No,  child ;  if  they  carry  him  off,  the  docthers'll 
take  care  of  him ;  so,  if  we  doesn't  find  him  by  the 
gun,  ye  kin  comfort  yer  heart  wid  the  thought  that 
he's  doin'  well  somewhere.  If  we  shud  go  down 
there  now,  before  they  all  git  aslape,  they  wud  treat 
us  moighty  oncivil." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Vera ;  ".but  it  is  desperately 
hard  to  wait." 


342  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

"  We  hain't  ready  to  go  yit,"  continued  Molly. 
"  We  must  thry  to  rig  up  sumthin'  to  carry  him  on, 
or  else  I'll  have  to  stale  a  stretcher  down  there,  and 
that  may  be  risky." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Vera,  catching  the 
thought  quick  as  light.  "  With  Tascar's  help,  I  can 
soon  make  one.  Tascar,  cut  two  long  straight  poles." 
While  the  boy  was  obeying,  Vera  drew  her  hunt 
ing-knife,  and  feeling  around  among  the  copse- 
wood,  selected  tough  and  very  slender  young  sap 
lings.  Having  secured  a  sufficient  number,  she 
twisted  them  back  and  forth  across  the  poles,  and 
secured  them  in  their  places  with  some  fibrous 
bark,  which  she  was  not  long  in  discovering.  Never 
did  her  thorough  wood-craft  serve  a  better  purpose 
than  in  this  emergency. 

"  Ye're  a  moighty  handy  little  thing,"  said  Molly. 
"  When  did  ye  learn  all  these  things  ?  " 

"  My  heart  would  teach  my  hands  to  do  anything 
that  is  needful  to-night.     Can  we  not  go  now?  " 
"  Not  jist  yet.     Sit  down  and  rest  yerself." 
"  As  if  I  could  rest !     Oh  !  do  let  us  go.     It  will 
be  a  comfort  to  get  a  few  inches  nearer.     What  a 
wild  night  it  promises  to  be  !     *  The  bleak  winds  do 
sorely  ruffle.'  " 

"  All  the  betther  for  us  !  There'll  not  be  so  many 
abroad.  They're  gittin'  quiet,  an'  I  think  we  may 
stale  up  a  bit  toward  the  place  now.  We've  got  to 
take  quite  a  woide  turn,  anyhow,  to  git  around  the 
creek,  for  they'll  have  guards  at  the  bridges.  I 
know  a  place  down  here  on  the  right,  where  we  kin 
git  over." 


VERA  'S  SEARCH  AMONG   THE  DEAD.         343 

The  strangely  assorted  group  now  started  on  their 
most  perilous  adventure,  Molly  leading,  because 
familiar  with  the  region,  and  Tascar  bringing  up  the 
rear  with  the  rude  but  strong  stretcher  which  Vera 
had  improvised.  Molly's  early  years  had  made  her 
perfectly  familiar  with  the  wild  mountain  region 
through  which  they  must  find  a  path,  and  she 
threaded  her  way  quite  as  readily  as  Vera  would 
have  done  in  her  own  haunts. 

"  I've  fished  up  and  down  this  creek  often  enough 
to  know  every  inch  of  it,"  said  Molly,  who  was  now 
as  eager  to  serve  Vera  as  she  had  once  been  to  get 
her  into  trouble,  for  being  so  "  stuck  up  an'  oncivil 
loike  ;  "  and  she  was  not  long  in  leading  her  little 
party  to  a  place  where  the  shallow  stream  could  be 
easily  crossed.  Then  they  ascended  the  further  bank 
by  a  slanting  path  that  led  toward  Fort  Clinton. 

"  We  must  git  well  up  on  the  hill,"  said  Molly, 
"  for  they  won't  be  a-lookin*  for  anybody  on  the 
mounting  sides,  and  thin  we  kin  crape  intil  the  fort 
right  by  Larry's  gun.  Ochone,  Larry,  me  darlint ! 
I've  been  kind  o'  rough  on  ye  sometoimes,  an*  if  we 
both  git  through  this  wrild  night's  work,  I'll  thry  to 
be  more  aisy  on  ye.  I  tell  ye  what  'tis,  Miss  Brown, 
when  ye're  '  'twixt  the  divil  an'  the  dape  say,'  as 
I've  heerd  sorae  o'  the  sailor  sogers  spake,  ye  think 
on  ivery  oncivil  thing  ye  iver  said  or  did.  May 
all  the  saints  be  wid  us!  Faix,  an'  they  ought  to 
be  !  "  she  concluded,  with  sudden  emphasis.  "  Ain't 
we  a-thryin'  to  d'o  as  good  a  job  as  they  iver  did  ?  " 

By  this  time  Molly  had  reached  the  end  of  her 
theology,  and  exhausted  her  sentiment ;  but  her 


344  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

practical  energies  and  shrewdness  seemed  inex 
haustible.  With  firm  yet  stealthy  tread,  she  led 
them  down  into  the  neighborhood  of  the  fort,  and 
her  familiarity  with  military  life  enabled  her  to  sus 
pect  just  where  guards  and  sentinels  would  be 
placed. 

"  Their  fires  show  that  they're  down  toward  the 
river,  loike,"  she  whispered  ;  "  an*  that's  good  for  us, 
too.  If  they  git  afther  us,  we  must  cut  roight  back 
on  the  path  we  come,  as  no  one  could  foller  it  who 
didn't  know  it.  Now  step  loight,  an'  keep  yer 
mouths  shut,  for  we're  gittin'  ticklish  near." 

Fortunately,  the  early  part  of  the  night  was  so 
dark  that  they  must  have  stumbled  immediately 
upon  some  one  to  be  observed.  As  they  approached 
quite  near  the  fort,  they  heard  a  sentinel  walking  his 
beat.  As  his  steeps  receded  they  slipped  by,  and 
sprang  down  into  the  ditch  under  the  parapet,  and 
then  crouched  a  few  moments,  scarcely  daring  to 
breathe. 

"  Give  me  yer  knife,"  whispered  Molly.  "  I've 
stuck  many  a  pig  in  my  day,  an'  I'll  stick  a  Hessian 
— yes,  two  or  three  on  'em — afore  they'll  git  sich  a 
holt  on  me  as  that  big  feller  had  as  is  lyin'  dead 
over  there." 

Vera  shuddered,  but  complied. 

"  Now,"  continued  Molly,  slowly  rising,  "  let  me 
git  my  bearin's,  so  we  kin  climb  in  jist  beside  Larry  s 
gun." 

The  dark  outline  of  the  mountain  soon  satisfied 
her  how  to  proceed,  and  she  said,  "  Come  around 
this  way  a  bit." 


VERA  'S  SEARCH  AMONG   THE  DEAD.         345 

Stumbling,  with  thrills  of  horror,  over  the  dead 
that  lay  in  the  fosse,  Vera  followed.  Suddenly 
Molly  whispered, 

"  Hist,  down  !  " 

Footsteps  approached,  but  died  away  again. 

"  Now  wait  a  bit  where  ye  are.  I  think  this  is 
the  gun,  and  kin  tell  soon  as  I  fale  of  it.  Ah!  ye 
ould  bulldog,  this  is  ye,  thrue  anuff.  I  made  ye  bite 
'em  the  last  toime,  didn't  I,  ye  good  ould  baste?" 

Vera  was  at  her  side  instantly,  whispering,  "  Was 
it  here  he  fell  ?  Oh  !  quick,  quick  !  I  cannot  endure 
this  suspense  a  moment  longer." 

"  Not  too  fast,  or  we  may  spoil  iverythin'  yit. 
I'll  cloimb  up  this  side  o'  the  gun,  an  ye  on  that  side. 
Let  the  bhoy  bide  down  here  till  we  call  him.  Aisy 
loike,  now,"  she  cautioned,  as  Vera,  with  a  bound, 
was  up  beside  the  cannon.  "  Let  us  look  over  and 
listen." 

M* 


346  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE  WOMAN  IN  VERA  AWAKES. 

IN  falling,  Saville  was  not  so  stunned  but  that  he 
had  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  make  the  huge 
Hessian  he  had  killed  a  sort  of  rampart  against  the 
thronging  enemy,  and  the  man  who  had  bayoneted 
him  was  carried  forward  with  the  impetuous  advance 
of  the  victors.  He  was  well  content  to  be  somewhat 
trampled,  instead  of  receiving  another  thrust  which 
would  pin  him  to  the  earth. 

Almost  his  first  thought  was,  "  Vera's  dream 
comes  true.  I  am  desperately  wounded,  perhaps 
dying ;  and  she,  poor  child,  in  sad  truth,  can  never 
find  me  here." 

As  the  rush  of  battle  swept  away  elsewhere,  so 
that  he  could  venture  to  move,  he  tried,  by  feeling, 
to  learn  the  nature  of  his  wound,  and  found,  with 
a  thrill  of  hope,  that  a  thick  memorandum-book  in 
his  breast-pocket  had  caused  the  bayonet  to  glance 
from  his  vitals  into  his  shoulder,  inflicting  what 
seemed  only  a  flesh  wound. 

He  soon  became  aware,  however,  that  it  was  a 
deep  one,  and  that  he  was  losing  blood  rapidly. 
His  main  hope  now  was,  that  he  might  not  become 


THE    WOMAN  IN   VERA  A  WAKENS.  347 

unconscious  before  the  surgeons  gathered  up  the 
wounded ;  and  yet  he  now  dared  show  no  sign  of 
life,  or  assume  any  position  that  would  attract  no 
tice  ;  for  the  brutal  Hessian  soldiery  were  raging 
around  the  fort,  often  striking  down  the  wounded 
who  begged  for  mercy ;  so  he  turned  over  upon  his 
face,  and  thus  passed  for  one  of  the  dead.  When  it 
became  evident  to  the  British  officers  that  all  resist 
ance  was  over,  they  called  off  the  "  dogs  of  war," 
and  soon  none  were  left  near  Saville  except  those 
as  helpless  as  himself.  He  now  ventured  to  turn 
over  again,  and  then  tried  to  sit  up,  but  found  him 
self  too  weak. 

Not  far  away,  he  heard  a  wounded  man  repeating 
to  himself  the  text  the  chaplain  had  chosen  the  pre 
vious  evening : 

"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life ;  he  that  be- 
lieveth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live: 

"  And  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall 
never  die." 

"  Poor  fellow!"  thought  Saville ;  "  believing  that, 
he,  can  die  easily,  and,  after  ceasing  to  be,  can  have 
no  disappointment  over  his  illusion.  And  yet,  sit 
uated  as  we  are,  one  might  well  wish  that  it  were 
all  true.  Oh  !  that  a  surgeon  would  come." 

The  surgeon  was  coming,  but  his  blood  and 
strength  were  ebbing  fast.  In  the  fierce  excitement 
of  the  day.  he  had  eaten  scarcely  anything ;  and 
this  abstinence,  together  with  his  previous  night  ot 
toil  and  the  loss  of  blood,  made  a  fearful  drain  upon 
his  vital  powers.  When,  a  little  later,  the  light  of  a 
lantern  was  carelessly  flashed  upon  his  pallid  face, 


348  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

the  man  who  held  it   muttered,  "  He's  done  for,* 
and  passed  on  to  those  giving  signs  of  life. 

The  deep  swoon  lasted  while  his  wife's  lover 
feasted  his  murderous  eyes  upon  him. 

Had  Vera's  prayers  received  no  answer  ?  Why 
had  he  seemed  like  the  dead,  when  a  man  stood 
over  him  who  would  have  stamped  out  the  faintest 
apparent  spark  of  life?  Why  does  he  revive  again, 
now  that  Vera  is  stealing  toward  the  fort  ? 

Slowly  he  became  conscious  of  what  had  hap 
pened,  of  his  desperate  situation.  He  felt  that  the 
deep  sighs  that  heaved  his  breast  caused  the  slight 
remnant  of  his  blood  to  ooze  more  rapidly.  He  was 
now  sure  that  he  would  die. 

"  Poor  mother !  "  he  groaned.  "  Dear,  kind  mo 
ther!  you  will  have  a  dreary  old  age." 

A  light  step  was  gliding  swiftly  toward  him. 

"  O  Vera  !  "  he  murmured  ;  "  my  more  than  sister, 
my  heart's  true  mate  !  How  can  I  enter  on  my  long, 
dreamless  sleep,  and  leave  you  waking  and  suffer- 
ing?" 

She  knelt  beside  him,  sobbing. 

"  Theron,  I  have  found  you  !     Thank  God  !  " 

"  Is  this  real  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  It  is — feel  my  warm  hand ;  it's  strong  as  a 
man's  to  rescue  you !  There  are  others  here  to 
help.  Courage  !  O  God  !  spare  him,  spare  him,  or 
let  me  die  also  !  " 

"  Hist,  aisy  now,"  warned  Molly.  "  Kape  all  yees 
perty  sayins  till  we're  out  o*  this  divil's  nest  o'  Hes 
sians.  Give  him  some  brandy,  while  I  call  the  bhoy 
wid  the  sthretcher." 


THE    WOMAN  IN    VERA   A  WAKES.  349 

As  Vera  put  the  flask  to  his  Hps,  she  whispered, 

"  You  will  live  ;  you  will  not  die,  and  break  my 
heart?" 

"  If  mind  has  any  power  over  matter,  I  will 
live,"  he  said  doggedly,  "  and  more  for  your  sake 
than  my  own.  From  henceforth  my  life  is  yours, 
my  peerless  Vera.  How,  in  the  name  of  wonder, 
have  you  reached  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  speak  now.  Save  every  atom  of  strength. 
Lay  the  stretcher  here,  Tascar.  Lift  him  gently 
now  with  me."  And,  as  if  endowed  with  tenfold 
her  usual  power,  she  put  her  arms  under  his  shoul 
ders,  and  lifted  him  on  the  green  boughs  that  she 
had  twined  for  the  purpose. 

"  You  are  an  angel  of  mercy,"  said  Saville. 

"  Hush  !     Now,  Molly  !  " 

"  Git  out  o'  the  way,  ye  bloody  spalpeen !  "  snarled 
Molly,  giving  the  poor  Hessian  whom  Saville  had 
slain  a  contemptuous  push  with  her  foot.  "  I'm 
glad  ye  got  yer  desarts." 

With  some  difficulty  they  made  their  way  over 
the  parapet  and  fosse  with  their  burden,  and  then 
started  rapidly  for  the  hills.  When  a  little  beyond 
the  sentinel,  Tascar  stepped  on  a  dry  stick,  which 
cracked  sharply. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  challenged  the  sentinel  in 
stantly. 

"  Whist !  let  the  stretcher  down  a  minute.  If  he 
comes  to  see,  I'll  fix  him  ; "  and  she  went  back  a 
few  feet,  and  crouched  like  a  panther  at  the  side  of 
the  path. 

As  there  were  no  further  sounds,  the  man   evi- 


350  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

dently  thought  that  it  was  some  animal  in  the 
woods,  and  continued  walking  his  beat. 

With  throbbing  hearts  and  stealthy  tread,  they 
again  pressed  on,  Molly  following,  with  the  hunting- 
knife,  as  a  sort  of  rear-guard  ;  and  they  soon  breathed 
freer,  with  a  growing  sense  of  security. 

"  Let  me  spell  ye  now,"  said  Molly  to  Vera.  "  I've 
got  a  stronger  back,  if  not  a  stouther  heart,  than 
yees." 

They  were  not  very  long  in  reaching  the  place 
where  the  ax,  provisions,  and  material  for  kindling 
a  fire  had  been  left.  Vera  took  up  these,  and  for 
an  hour  they  toiled  on,  with  frequent  rests.  Saville 
often  essayed  to  speak,  but  Vera  enjoined  silence, 
and,  when  he  grew  faint,  she  put  the  flask  to  his 
lips. 

At  last  they  found  a  secluded  place,  quite  out  of 
the  course  that  any  of  the  fugitives  would  take,  and 
hidden  from  the  enemy  in  the  forts  by  intervening 
hills.  A  brook  ran  near,  and  Saville's  thirst  was 
growing  very  painful.  Vera  thought  they  might 
venture  to  rest  here,  and  kindle  a  fire.  They  were 
all  desperately  weary,  and  in  need  of  food.  Saville, 
also,  was  growing  so  weak  that  he  might  again 
become  unconscious.  Vera  asked  Molly  to  help  Tas- 
car  gather  dry  wood,  saying  that  she  would  wait  on 
Mr.  Saville,  for  she  esteemed  this  so  great  a  privi 
lege  that  she  was  unwilling  to  share  it. 

"  Never  was  there  such  music,  excepting  your 
voice,  Vera,  as  the  babble  of  that  brook,"  said 
Saville  feebly.  "  I  have  heard  of  the  thirst  of  the 
wounded,  but  did  not  know  what  it  was  before.'' 


THE    WOMAN  IN  VERA   AWAKES.  351 

Taking  a  cup  from  the  bundle  she  had  carried 
Vera  soon  placed  a  cool  draught  to  his  lips.  He 
held  her  hand,  as  he  drank  eagerly. 

"  Oh  !  that  gives  me  life,"  he  said.  "  Did  you 
mutter  any  potent  words  over  this  cup  ?  " 

"  My  every  breath  is  a  prayer  for  you,"  she  said. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  answering  your 
own  prayers,  my  sweet  divinity.  I  shall  worship 
you  while  I  have  breath  to  pray  or  praise." 

"Your  mind  is  wandering,  Mr.  Saville." 

"  Never  from  you." 

"  Hush  !  you  must  not  talk." 

"  Like  all  other  devotees,  I  find  it  easier  to  wor 
ship  than  to  obey." 

"  Please  don't  speak  in  this  manner,  Mr.  Saville. 
I  am  so  grateful  to  God  for  having  spared  you  that 
your  words  pain  me." 

"  And  I  am  so  grateful  to  you  that  I  can  scarcely 
find  words  that  mean  enough.  May  I  live  to  show 
you  how  I  feel!  Do  not  call  me  Mr.  Saville  any 
more." 

"  Do  you  not  think  I  had  better  try  to  dress  your 
wound  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  Theron?  " 

"  Yes,  do;  your  very  touch  is  healing." 

She  took  out  her  bandages,  and  bade  Tascar  heap 
light  wood  on  the  fire.  Then,  laying  her  sharp 
hunting-knife  within  reach,  she  set  about  her  deli 
cate  and  difficult  task.  But  her  beautiful  face,  as 
she  bent  over  him,  revealed  only  the  deepest  solici 
tude  for  him,  and  not  a  particle  of  embarrassing  self- 
consciousness.  She  first  took  from  his  pocket  the 
torn  and  deeply  indented  little  memorandum-book. 


352 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


"  Theron,"  she  exclaimed,  "  this  saved  your  life  ! ' 

"  I  think  it  did.  It  was  fortunate  that  it  was  in 
that  pocket  instead  of  the  other." 

"  Fortunate !  Oh  !  why  do  you  use  such  meaning* 
less  words  ?  It  was  so  much  more  than  fortunate ! 
Will  you  give  the  book  to  me?  " 

"Yes." 

She  pressed  her  lips  upon  it,  and  hid  it  in  her 
bosom. 

Then  Molly  and  Tascar  were  surprised  to  hear  Sa- 
ville's  audible  laugh,  but  tears  were  in  Vera's  eyes. 

"  Alack!"  she  sighed,  dashing  them  away;  "  I  am 
a  foolish  child,  and  not  equal  to  this  work.  I  must 
cut  your  coat,  Theron." 

"  Yes,"  said  he;  "  pass  your  knife  up  my  sleeve  ; 
cut  all  away  around  my  throat.  It  will  not  do  for 
me  to  move  much.  I  can  direct  you  somewhat,  for 
I  know  a  little  of  surgery.  On  entering  the  service 
I  foresaw  wounds,  but  no  such  blissful  experience  as 
this." 

"  Only  speak  in  directing  me,"  said  Vera,  deftly 
doing  his  bidding.  "  Oh  !  what  an  awful  gash  !  "  and 
for  a  moment  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  I  tell  you  I  am  going  to  live,  Vera.  I  feel  it  in 
every  nerve  and  fiber  of  my  body.  How  does  the 
cut  run  ?  " 

"  Across  the  upper  part  of  your  breast, 'into  your 
shoulder." 

"  You  see  it  is  a  flesh  wound  merely.  Remove 
only  the  clots  of  blood  that  prevent  you  from  press 
ing  the  sides  of  the  cut  together.  Now  bandage  as 
tightly  as  you  can  around  my  shoulder.  There, 


THE    WOMAN  IN    VERA   AWAKES.  353 

that  is  right.  How  infinitely  different  your  touch 
is  from  that  of  a  half-drunk  British  surgeon  !  Sup 
pose  that  in  your  place,  my  dainty  Ariel,  my 
ministering  spirit,  a  broad-faced  Hessian  butcher 
were  bending  over  me,  bungling  away  with  fingers 
as  hard  as  his  heart !  That  will  do.  Now  cover  all 
up  well,  so  there  may  be  no  danger  of  my  taking 
cold,  and  then  rest  yourself." 

"  I  will  rest  when  you  are  out  of  danger.  You 
must  take  some  food  now." 

"  Not  much.  We  must  run  no  risk  of  inflamma 
tion." 

Again  she  brought  water  from  the  brook,  and  dip 
ping  the  hard,  dry  bread  into  it,  fed  him  as  she 
would  a  child.  She  saw  that  his  head  did  not  rest 
comfortably,  and  so  she  lifted  it  gently  into  her  lap. 
But,  as  she  did  so,  there  came  a  warmer  glow  into 
her  face  than  the  ruddy  firelight  warranted. 

"  I  will  waken  you,"  she  said,  "  when  it  is  time  to 
resume  our  journey  home." 

"  Home  !  How  sweet  that  word  sounds,  as  you 
speak  it !  " 

"Hush!  hush!" 

"  Well,  then,  good-night,  Vera.  This  is  not  the 
dreamless  sleep  that  I  was  dreading  in  Fort  Clinton." 
And  almost  instantly  he  sank  into  quiet  slumber. 

Molly  and  Tascar,  as  soon  as  they  found  that 
they  could  do  nothing  more  to  serve  Vera,  had 
thrown  themselves  down  by  the  fire,  and  were  soon 
in  deep  oblivion.  But  the  young  girl,  with  eyes 
as  clear  and  steady  as  the  stars  which  now  shone 
brightly,  watched  through  the  silent  hours. 


354  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

She  had  never  had  less  inclination  to  sleep.  There 
was  a  strange,  delicious  tumult  in  her  heart  She 
thought  it  was  gladness  and  gratitude  for  Saville's 
escape.  She  thought  it  was  hope  for  the  future. 
She  would  understand,  by-and-by,  that  it  was  far 
more.  A  hand  was  on  the  door  of  the  inner  cham 
ber  of  her  heart.  Its  silence  was  broken  by  a  voice 
whose  echoes  would  never  cease.  During  the  agony, 
the  fear,  the  awful  suspense,  of  that  eventful  day, 
Vera  had  ceased  to  be  a  child,  and  had  become  a 
woman — strong  to  act  and  to  suffer.  And  now  that 
the  man,  on  whom  she  had  leaned  as  might  a 
younger  sister,  and  whom  she  regarded  as  a  supe 
rior  being,  far  beyond  and  above  her,  had  become 
utterly  helpless — dependent  on  her  for  existence — 
woman-like,  she  began  to  love  him  as  only  a  woman 
could  love,  and  with  the  same  spirit  of  self-sacrifice 
and  self-forgetfulness  which  had  been  the  character 
istic  of  her  mother. 

Innocent  love  is  happiness  ;  it  brings  its  own  re 
ward  ;  and  the  more  unselfish  it  is,  the  more  pro 
foundly  it  satisfies. 

The  world  began  to  grow  more  beautiful  to  Vera, 
even  on  that  chill  autumn  night,  and  the  sounds  of 
nature  to  make  sweet  chords  with  the  new  and  mys 
terious  impulses  of  her  heart.  The  brook  sang  to 
her  as  of  old,  when  she  was  a  child  ;  but  now  with 
richer,  deeper  meanings  ;  the  chirp  of  the  crickets 
seemed  cheery  and  companionable  ;  the  light  of  the 
stars  grew  kindly  and  sympathetic.  A  stag,  at 
tracted  by  the  fire,  came  and  stood  in  the  outer 
circle  of  light,  and  gazed  at  her  a  moment  with  his 


THE    WOMAN  IN    VERA   A  WAKES. 


355 


large,  wistful,  questioning  eyes.  With  something 
of  her  old  mirthfulness,  she  shook  her  finger  at  him, 
as  if  he  were  an  unruly  child,  that  might  disturb  the 
sleeper  over  whom  she  was  watching,  and  the  timid 
creature  bounded  away. 

The  hours  passed  swiftly,  with  strange,  happy 
thoughts  and  fancies  flashing  up  in  her  mind,  as 
little  understood  as  the  mysterious  aurora  that  was 
illuminating  the  northern  sky. 

The  young  girl  was  consciously  puzzled  by  the  fact 
that  she  was  beginning  to  look  forward  to  Saville's 
awakening  with  something  like  shyness  and  embar 
rassment  ;  her  heart  fluttered  at  the  very  thought. 
Heretofore,  she  had  lifted  her  eyes  and  face  to  his 
with  no  more  self-consciousness  than  that  of  a  flower 
opening  to  the  morning  sun.  And  yet,  that  which 
she  half  dreaded  she  anticipated  with  a  new  and 
vague  delight. 

Her  finger  often  sought  his  pulse,  and  her  confi 
dence  increased,  as  she  found  that  it  was  quiet  and 
even,  though  feeble. 

As  dawn  began  to  tinge  the  eastern  horizon,  he 
seemed  to  grow  uneasy.  His  brow  contracted  heav 
ily,  and,  bending  down,  she  heard  him  mutter, 

"  Stand  aside ;  your  power  to  curse  my  life  has  gone." 

Then,  after  a  little,  his  face  became  calm  and 
quiet  for  a  while.  But  soon  another  painful  dream 
disturbed  him,  and  from  broken  words  and  sentences 
it  was  evident  that  he  was  living  over  the  terrible 
scenes  in  Fort  Clinton.  Suddenly  he  said,  quite 
plainly, 

"  Vera,  my  heart's  true  mate,  how  can  I  leave — 


356  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

and  he  started  up,  and  looked  wildly  around  for  a 
moment. 

"Theron,"  said  Vera  gently,  "it's  only  a  dream; 
and  dreams,  you  told  me,  '  go  by  contraries.' ' 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly  a  moment,  and  then 
asked,  "  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  I  dreamt  that  you  would  be  wounded,  and,  alas! 
it  came  true.  I  also  dreamt  that  I  could  not  find 
you  ;  but,  thank  God  !  the  contrary  was  true." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  it  all  comes  back  to  me  now.  You 
found  me  dying  in  the  fort." 

"  But  you  promised  to  live,"  said  Vera,  with  a 
sudden  chill  of  fear. 

"  Did  I  ?  My  head  is  confused.  Will  you  please 
give  me  a  little  water  ?" 

Trembling  with  apprehension,  she  hastened  to 
the  stream,  and  returned  with  the  cool  and  refresh 
ing  water.  This  awakening  was  so  different  from 
what  she  expected. 

After  taking  the  water  he  seemed  better,  and  his 
eyes  sought  hers  wistfully  and  questioningly. 

"  I  am  very  weak,"  he  said  ;  "you  must  be  patient 
with  me." 

"  O  Theron !  live  !  live !  that  is  all  I  ask  !  " 

"I  feel  that  I  shall,  Vera;  but  it  may  be  long 
before  I  am  well.  You  were  holding  my  head  when 
I  awoke." 

"  Let  me  support  it  again,"  she  said  blushing,  and 
she  lifted  his  head  into  her  lap. 

"  I  want  to  see  your  face." 

"No,  no,"  she  answered  hastily;  "look  at  the 
beautiful  dawn  yonder." 


THE    WOMAN  IN   VERA   AWAKES. 


357 


"  Your  face  is  to  me  more  beautiful  and  more  full 
of  hope  than  the  morning.  Are  you  sure  that  you 
are  well  ?  I  have  had  such  painful  dreams.  Please 
let  me  see  you  and  reassure  myself." 

She  moved  so  as  to  comply  with  his  wish,  and  as 
he  fixed  his  eyes  eagerly  upon  her  face,  it  drooped, 
and  a  warmer  light  stole  into  it  than  glowed  in  the 
eastern  sky. 

"  I  do  see  the  dawn  in  your  face,"  he  said,  "  and 
it  grows  more  lovely  every  moment.  Have  you 
been  watching  over  me  all  the  long  night  ?  " 

"  It  has  not  seemed  long,"  she  faltered. 

"  Vera !  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  timidly  to  his,  but  they  soon 
fell  again  before  his  ardent  gaze. 

"  Vera,  your  face  contains  the  true  elixir  of  life. 
I  shall  get  well,  never  fear ! " 

"  O  Theron!  I  am  so  glad — so  very  happy.  But 
if  you  cannot  sleep  any  more,  had  we  not  better  try 
to  get  home?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  in  a  voice  of  deep  content ; 
"  take  me  home." 

She  was  glad  to  escape.  Arousing  Tascar  and 
Molly,  they  were  soon  on  their  way  to  the  secluded 
mountain  gorge,  in  which  was  the  rude  cabin,  which, 
to  Saville,  promised  to  be  a  haven  of  rest  such  as 
he  had  never  known  before. 


3J8  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 
VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME. 

AFTER  a  toilsome,  difficult  journey,  during 
which  Saville's  wound  became  very  painful, 
they  reached  the  cabin.  Old  Gula  met  them  with  a 
scared  expression  on  her  wrinkled  face,  but  was 
overjoyed  at  rinding  Tascar  and  Vera  safe. 

"  I'se  had  an  orful  time,"  she  said.  "  Strange, 
loud  voices,  speakin'  among  de  hills,  an*  I  didn't 
know  what  dey  mean.  Den  Mas'r  Brown  come 
home  wild  and  drefful,  a-cryin*  dat  all  was  lost.  Den 
he  sat  a  long  time  like  a  stun.  All  on  a  sudden  he 
ask,  '  Whare's  Vera  ? '  I  telled  him  dat  you  took 
Tascar,  and  went  away  yesterday  mornin'.  And  he 
began  to  go  on  orfully  agin,  and  took  de  big  gun 
and  went  arter  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Vera,  with  a  sigh,  "  if  he  does  not 
come  soon,  I  will  try  to  find  him.  Mr.  Saville  has 
been  badly  wounded,  and  we  must  all  do  our  best 
for  him.  You  get  us  some  breakfast.  Tascar,  make 
a  fire  on  the  hearth  in  the  cabin,  and  then  help  your 
mother.  Molly,  will  you  help  me  carry  Mr.  Saville 
in?" 

They  laid  him  down  on  the  cabin  floor,  and  Vera 


VESA'S  ONLY  CRIME. 


359 


brought  a  pillow,  saying,  as  she  placed  it  under  his 
head,  "  You  are  at  home,  Theron,"  and  was  well 
rewarded  by  his  contented  smile. 

One  end  of  the  cabin  had  been  partitioned  off  into 
two  apartments.  In  one  of  these  a  couch  was  pre 
pared  for  Saville ;  but,  as  they  were  about  to  carry 
him  thither,  Mr.  Brown  entered  in  strong  excite 
ment,  exclaiming, 

"  Great  God  !  Vera.     What  does  this  mean  ?" 

"Hush,  father!" 

"  Are  you  bent  on  my  destruction  ?  Why  have 
you  brought  this  strange  woman  here  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  so  moighty  strange,"  snapped  Molly. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Saville,  in  his  old,  significant 
tone. 

The  exile  turned  tremblingly  to  him. 

"  You  are  safe,  as  I  told  you,  just  as  long  as  you 
do  exactly  as  I  direct.  Sit  down  there  and  rest,  and 
all  will  be  well." 

The  man  obeyed,  but  was  evidently  dissatisfied, 
and  under  great  perturbation. 

Before  the  day  was  over,  both  Vera  and  Saville 
were  satisfied  that  the  services  of  a  surgeon  would  be 
required.  Molly  was  anxious  to  depart,  that  she 
might  find  her  husband,  Larry.  Vera  therefore 
decided,  without  consulting  her  father,  to  send  Tas- 
car  with  her  across  the  mountains  to  New  Windsor. 
Molly  thought  that  all  who  had  escaped  from  the 
forts  would  probably  be  in  that  region,  and  said  that 
she  knew  the  way  well,  after  she  got  down  near  to 
the  river ;  so  it  was  arranged  that  they  should  go 
early  the  next  morning. 


360  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Saville  slept  a  great  deal  of  the  time,  and  seemed 
strengthened  by  the  nourishing  broth  which  Gula 
made  for  him.  His  deep  content,  and  the  anticipa 
tion  of  Vera's  society  and  care,  did  more  than  any 
thing  else  to  forward  recovery. 

The  next  morning,  Molly  and  Tascar  departed. 
Vera  accompanied  them,  and  directed  the  boy  to 
blaze  the  trees  until  the  path  became  plain.  Molly 
did  not  tell  Vera  that  she  had  learned  from  her  hus 
band  a  good  deal  about  Saville's  previous  life,  nor  did 
she  hint  that  he  had  a  wife  living  in  New  York.  The 
redoubtable  "  captain's "  ideas  concerning  morals 
were  rather  confused,  at  best ;  but,  in  this  case,  she 
acted  in  accordance  with  such  light  as  she  had,  and 
her  reasoning  was  simple,  if  not  correct.  Saville  had 
saved  her  life ;  and,  whether  he  was  right  or  wrong, 
she  was  in  honor  bound  not  to  put  a  straw  in  his 
way ;  and,  from  what  Larry  had  told  her  about 
Saville's  wife,  she  felt  that  no  one  had  a  truer  right 
than  he  to  find  a  better  one. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  following  day  Tascar 
returned,  and,  to  Vera's  great  joy,  was  accompanied 
by  her  old  acquaintance,  Surgeon  Jasper.  He  pro 
nounced  Saville's  wound  severe,  but  not  dangerous, 
if  he  had  good  care  and  nursing  ;  "  and  that,  I  know, 
he  will  get,"  he  added,  with  a  glance  that  brought 
the  rich  color  into  Vera's  face,  which,  for  some  reason 
that  she  could  not  understand,  was  now  so  ready  to 
come  and  go. 

"  I  am  here,  prepared  to  stay  a  few  days,"  said  the 
kindly  surgeon  ;  "and  when  I  leave,  good  living  and 
sleep  will  be  all  that  are  needed,  I  think." 


VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME.  361 

'•  How  can  I  repay  you?"  exclaimed  Vera,  taking 
his  hand. 

"  No  occasion  for  thanks,"  was  the  brusque  reply. 
"  This  is  my  business,  and  we  can't  afford  to  lose 
such  good  soldiers  as  Saville." 

Her  father  chafed  greatly,  at  first,  when  he  found 
that  another  stranger  had  learned  of  his  hiding-place, 
but  the  man  was  so  genial  and  frank,  and  the  fact 
that  he  had  been  at  the  bedside  of  Vera's  mother 
partially  .reconciled  the  exile  to  his  presence.  The 
surgeon,  also,  raised  his  hopes  that  the  American 
cause  was  not  hopelessly  lost,  as  he  had  believed  on 
the  capture  of  the  forts. 

Under  skilled  treatment,  Saville's  wound  healed 
rapidly,  and  he  was  soon  able  to  sit  up  before  the 
fire  on  the  ample  hearth  of  the  cabin.  The  genial 
surgeon  was  the  life  of  the  party  during  the  long 
autumn  evenings,  and  to  Vera  these  hours  were  ever 
remembered  as  among  the  happiest  of  her  life. 

Whenever  it  was  possible,  she  found  Saville's  eyes 
following  her  with  an  expression  that  warmed  her 
very  soul ;  but  she,  in  her  innocence,  imagined  that 
his  rapid  recovery  was  the  cause  of  the  springs  of 
joy  welling  up  in  her  heart. 

But,  as  Saville  grew  stronger,  he  often  fell  into 
gloomy  fits  of  musing,  which  perplexed  and  dis 
tressed  her.  She  also  noted  a  troubled  expression 
on  the  surgeon's  face,  as  some  little  act  on  the  part 
of  Saville  suggested  that  his  feelings  were  warmer 
than  gratitude  or  friendship  inspired. 

Jasper  knew  that  Saville  had  a  wife,  and,  more 
over,  that  she  was  a  wife  only  in  name.     He  felt 
16 


362  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

that  Vera  was  too  fine  a  girl  to  be  trifled  with ;  but 
as  she  was  situated,  the  man  to  whom  she  had 
unconsciously  given  her  heart  might  do  more  to 
make  than  to  mar  her  happiness.  At  any  rate,  the 
surgeon,  who  was  a  man  of  the  world,  concluded  that 
it  was  not  his  business  to  interfere,  and  so  at  last 
took  his  departure  in  his  wonted  jovial  manner. 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  thank  me,  Saville,"  he  said, 
"  for  taking  you  away  from  this  fairies'  bower ;  but 
I  shall  report  to  the  governor  that  you  will  be  fit 
for  duty  in  a  month." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  that  I  am  a  soldier,"  said  the 
young  man,  flushing  ;  "  and  you  may  see  me  in  less 
time." 

After  the  surgeon's  departure,  Saville's  moody  fits 
did  not  cease,  but  rather  increased.  While  he  was 
exceedingly  kind  and  gentle,  Vera  saw  that  he  was 
passing  under  some  kind  of  restraint ;  his  eyes  did 
not  seek  hers  with  the  old,  frank,  ardent  expression  ; 
and,  at  times,  she  observed  him  regarding  her  furtively, 
and  with  such  a  sad,  wistful  look,  that  she  began  to 
shed  tears  in  secret,  though,  with  womanly  instinct, 
she  tried  to  appear  cheerful,  and  blind  to  all  changes 
in  him. 

But  when  his  growing  distress  of  mind  began  to 
retard  his  recovery,  she  felt  that  she  could  endure 
it  no  longer.  One  day,  when  he  scarcely  tasted 
some  delicate  birds  which  she  had  shot  for  him,  she 
burst  into  tears,  and  said, 

"  Theron,  what  is  the  matter?  I  can  shut  my 
eyes  to  the  truth  no  longer.  Something  is  preying 
upon  your  mind.  You  have  a  deeper  wound  than 


VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME.  363 

that  which  Surgeon  Jasper  healed.     For  the  last  few 
days,  you  have  failed,  rather  than  gained,  in  health." 

He  grew  very  pale,  and  did  not  immediately 
answer. 

"  I  do  not  ask  to  know  the  cause  of  your  trouble  ' 
she  continued ;  "  for  you  would  tell  me  if  you 
thought  best ;  but  I  cannot  endure  to  see  you  suffer. 
If  there  is  anything  that  a  poor,  friendless  young  girl 
like  myself  can  do,  I  pray  you,  speak  plainly.  Be 
lieve  me,  I  would  think  any  self-sacrifice  that  would 
serve  you  a  privilege." 

"  Any  sacrifice,  Vera  ?  " 

"  Any,  any  that  you  can  ask,"  she  replied  eagerly. 

But,  looking  into  her  pure,  innocent  face,  and  re 
membering  how  totally  ignorant  she  was  of  the 
world's  harsh  judgment,  his  own  manhood  rose  up 
to  defend  her. 

He  took  both  of  her  hands  in  his,  and  said,  very 
gently,  "  I  believe  you,  my  dearest  sister  ;  you  are 
unselfishness  itself.  But  no  cruel  self-sacrifice  on 
your  part  would  help  me.  Some  day  I  will  tell  you 
what  is  troubling  me.  I  cannot  now.  The  miser 
able  and  misgoverned  world,  of  which  you  know  so 
little,  often  brings  to  those  who  must  be  out  in  it 
many  hard  problems  to  solve.  Rest  assured,  if  I 
need  your  help,  I  will  ask  it,  and  would  rather  have 
it  than  that  of  any  other  living  being.  Now  take 
your  gun,  and  get  me  some  more  birds,  and  at  sup 
per  I  will  try  to  do  better." 

She  saw  that  he  wished  to  be  alone,  and  so, 
sorely  perplexed  and  heavy-hearted,  she  complied. 

After   she  was   gone,  Saville  grappled  with   the 


364 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


strongest  temptation  which  life  had  yet  brought 
him.  In  the  eye  of  the  law,  he  had  a  wife,  and 
could  not  marry  Vera,  and  yet  he  loved  her  with  the 
whole  intensity  of  his  nature.  From  the  hour,  also, 
when  she  blushed  under  his  searching  glance  in  the 
early  dawn,  at  the  time  of  their  bivouac  in  the  moun 
tains,  he  had  thought  she  was  learning  to  give  him 
a  warmer  affection  than  that  of  a  sister.  In  his 
weakness  and  inability  to  think  connectedly,  this 
hope  had  filled  him  with  a  sort  of  delirium  of  happi 
ness  ;  but  he  had  soon  commenced  asking  himself 
how  this  mutual  regard  must  end. 

With  his  French  education,  and  as  an  honest 
adherent  to  the  creed  that  the  impulses  of  nature 
should  be  man's  only  law,  he  required  no  priestly 
sanction  to  his  love;  but  could  have  said  to  Vera, 
in  all  sincerity,  "  My  heart  claims  you;  my  reason 
approves  the  choice.  I  cannot  help  my  past  folly,  but 
know  that  I  am  acting  wisely  now.  I  will  ever  be 
your  true  lover.  I  will  be  such  a  husband  as  love 
can  make  me,  and  such  as  mere  form  and  law  can 
not." 

While  all  this  was  true,  he  also  clearly  saw  that 
Vera,  in  remembrance  of  her  mother's  teaching  and 
example,  and  with  her  faith  in  the  Bible,  and  in  the 
Being  whose  will  she  believed  that  book  revealed, 
would  not  look  upon  any  such  relation  in  the  light 
in  which  it  appeared  to  him.  Although  the  young 
girl  had  proved  her  readiness  to  sacrifice  her  life  for 
him,  there  had  always  been  something  in  her  words 
and  manner  which  led  him  to  greatly  doubt  whether 
he  could  induce  her  to  violate  her  conscience,  even 


VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME.  365 

though  that  which  he  asked  seemed  perfectly  right 
to  him. 

In  justice  to  Saville,  it  should  be  said,  that  though 
he  regarded  her  faith  as  an  utter  delusion,  he  would 
not  wish  her  to  do  anything  which  she  thought 
wrong;  and,  although  he  could  honestly  declare  his 
love,  he  felt  that  it  would  be  a  base  thing  to  ask  her 
to  reward  it,  since  she  could  not  do  so  without  great 
moral  wrong  to  herself. 

There  were,  besides,  other  very  important  consid 
erations.  He  had  always  promised  Vera,  and  had  sin 
cerely  proposed  to  secure  for  her,  a  recognized  and 
respected  place  in  society.  If  she  listened  to  his 
suit,  this  would  be  impossible. 

She  was  defenseless,  friendless,  more  than  or 
phaned.  She  trusted  him  implicitly,  and,  as  a  man 
of  honor,  he  found  that  he  could  come  to  but  one 
conclusion.  He  must  be  true  to  her  interests,  at  any 
and  every  cost  to  himself. 

"  Am  I  equal  to  this?  "  he  groaned,  and  he  strode 
up  and  down  the  little  cabin  in  such  agony,  that 
great  beaded  drops  came  out  upon  his  forehead. 

At  last  he  sat  down,  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands,  while  his  mind  went  rapidly  over  the  past. 
In  imagination,  he  saw  the  timid  maiden  venturing 
down  into  the  dark  fort,  where  on  every  side  a  fate 
worse  than  death  threatened,  that  she  might  rescue 
him. 

"  I  am  a  base  wretch  to  hesitate,"  he  cried  ;  "  but 
would  that  I  had  died  there,  rather  than  have  lived 
to  suffer  this  !  She  shall  not  surpass  me  in  self-sacri 
fice,  however.  I  will  place  her  as  high  in  society  as  a 


366  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

brother's  love  can  raise  her,  and  then,  if  the  burden 
grows  too  heavy,  I  can  soon  enter  on  the  dreamless 
sleep  from  which  she  recalled  me.  O  hating  and 
hateful  wife  !  even  your  malignity  would  be  satisfied 
if  you  could  see  me  now." 

Vera  returned  empty-handed.  "  My  hand  trembled 
so  that  I  could  not  shoot,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very 
sorry." 

"  Never  mind,  little  sister  ;  I  am  better  now,  and 
do  not  need  anything,"  he  said  soothingly,  for  he  saw 
that  her  heart  was  full. 

"Better!"  she  cried,  with  tears  starting  to  her 
eyes.  "  You  are  but  the  ghost  of  your  old  self.  I 
never  saw  you  so  pale,  and  you  look  years  older  than 
when  I  left  you  an  hour  ago." 

"  You  are  tired  and  depressed,  Vera.  Come  and 
sit  down  by  me  on  your  low  bench,  and  see  if  I  can 
not  cheer  you." 

She  gave  him  a  wistful,  questioning  look,  which  he 
found  it  hard  to  meet. 

Making  a  strong  effort  at  self-control,  she  complied 
with  his  wish,  and  for  a  few  moments  neither  spoke. 
Again  and  again  she  would  look  at  him,  with  the 
same  childlike,  questioning  manner. 

"  What  is  it,  little  sister  ?  "  he  at  last  asked. 

For  some  reason,  this  term,  which  had  once  seemed 
so  sweet  and  endearing,  but  which  of  late  he  had 
seldom  employed,  now  chilled  her  heart  with  fear 
His  face,  though  very  kind,  had  a  strong,  resolved 
expression.  She  felt  as  if  a  viewless  but  impassable 
barrier  were  growing  up  between  them.  While  at 
her  side,  and  holding  her  hand,  he  still  seemed  far 


VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME.  367 

off  and  receding.  He  called  her  his  "  dear  little  sister,' 
and  yet  she  would  rather  that  he  should  say  simply, 
Vera,  in  the  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  her  name, 
when,  after  her  night's  watch,  she  had  raised  her 
downcast  eyes  to  his.  She  neither  understood  her 
self  nor  him,  but  her  heart  craved  for  more  than 
mere  brotherly  affection  ;  and  now  that  he  sought  to 
manifest  only  this,  he  rudely  jarred  the  deepest  and 
most  sensitive  chord  of  her  being.  When  he  again 
asked,  in  a  gentle,  soothing  tone,  as  he  might  speak 
to  a  child,  "  Tell  me  what  troubles  you,  sister  Vera. 
Speak  as  frankly  as  if  I  were  indeed  your  brother," 
she  bowed  her"  head  upon  his  knee,  and  sobbed  as  if 
her  heart  would  break. 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter," •>  she  faltered. 
"  It  seems  as  if  you  were  miles  away  from  me,  and 
that  something  dreadful  is  going  to  happen." 

A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  his  face,  for  he  inter 
preted  her  feelings  far  better  than  she  could  herself; 
and  he  learned,  as  never  before,  how  penetrating  a 
loving  woman's  intuitions  often  are. 

Suddenly  she  asked,  "  Are  you  going  to  leave  me, 
Theron?" 

He  had  about  decided  to  tell  her  the  whole  truth, 
and  show  the  necessity  of  his  course,  when  her  father 
entered  the  cabin.  Before  doing  so,  he  had  marked 
his  daughter's  attitude  and  distress,  also  Saville's 
caresses  as  he  stroked  her  bowed  head.  He  said 
nothing,  however,  but  sat  down  in  his  accustomed 
place,  with  the  deepest  gloom  lowering  upon  his 
haggard  face. 

Vera  was  about  to  move  hastily  away,  but  Saville 
retained  her  at  his  side,  saying, 


368  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

"  No,  Vera ;  no  one  has  a  better  right  here  than 
you." 

For  a  little  time  they  all  remained  silent.  Vera 
made  desperate  efforts  to  gain  the  mastery  of  her 
feelings,  though  with  but  partial  success  ;  for  she  felt 
that  some  blow  was  impending,  which  she  could 
not  avoid,  and  yet  from  which  she  shrank  in  sicken 
ing  dread. 

At  last  Saville  began,  in  a  quiet,  steady  voice, 

"  Mr.  Brown,  I  have  so  far  recovered  from  my 
wound  that  I  ought  soon  to  report  for  duty  again. 
I  feel  that  it  would  be  very  wrong  to  leave  you  here 
in  this  remote  and  lonely  place.  I  tremble  as  I 
think  of  what  might  happen  in.  case  of  sickness  or 
accident.  Moreover,  the  country  is  filled  with  law 
less,  reckless  men,  as  you  have  learned,  to  your  sor 
row." 

The  exile  sprang  up,  and  commenced  pacing  the 
room  in  great  excitement,  but  Saville  continued 
firmly, 

"  You  owe  it  to  Vera  to  place  her  in  a  more  secure 
position.  This  wild  mountain-gorge  is  no  place  for 
her.  She  is  fitted  to  shine  among  the  highest  and 
best,  and  I  think  I  can  say,  without  boasting,  that  I 
have  the  influence  to  place  her  there.  All  that ' 

A  harsh,  bitter  laugh  interrupted  him,  and  her 
father  said, 

"  Mr.  Saville,  you  are  unequaled  at  sarcasm." 

The  young  man  rose  and  faced  the  speaker,  and 
Vera,  also,  stood  tremblingly  at  his  side.  "  I  mean 
every  word  I  say.  I  can "  he  began  earnestly. 

"Mr.  Saville,"  again  interrupted  the  exile,  "your 


VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME.  369 

words  are  worse  than  useless.  It  is  time  you  learned 
the  truth.  For  the  sake  of  the  past,  in  memory  of 
what  my  daughter  braved  in  your  behalf,  you  will 
at  least  leave  us  unmolested,  after  you  learn  who 
and  what  we  are.  Blinded  as  I  am  by  remorse  and 
fear,  I  have  still  marked  your  growing  affection  for 
Vera ;  and  though  I  am  but  a  wreck — a  miserable 
fragment  of  a  man — I  have  still  some  sense  of  honor 
and  justice  left.  You  are  a  gentleman,  sir.  I  knew 
that  from  the  first ;  and  it  is  not  right  that  you 
should  associate  with  such  as  we  are  any  longer." 

"  You  are  talking  wildly,  sir.  You  are  not  your 
self,"  Saville  answered  soothingly. 

u  I  am  speaking  terrible  truth,"  continued  the 
unhappy  man.  "  Whatever  else  has  failed  in  me, 
memory  has  not,  and  it  is  my  hourly  and  relentless 
scourge.  But  enough  of  this.  It  is  sufficient  to  say 
that  we  are  outcasts.  A  curse  is  resting  on  us, 
which  must  die  with  us.  This  is  no  place  for  you ; 
and  you  will  bear  me  witness,  that  I  never  sought 
to  draw  you  within  the  deadly  shade  of  my  destiny. 
I  have  but  one  favor  to  ask — that  you  leave  us  to 
perish  as  remote  from  human  knowledge  as  pos 
sible." 

"  I  cannot  do  this,"  cried  Saville,  quite  off  his 
guard.  "  Why  are  you  outcasts  ?  What  crime 
has  this  innocent  maiden  committed,  that  I  should 
heartlessly  leave  her  to  so  horrible,  a  fate  ?  " 

"What  crime  has  she  committed?     The  same  as 
that  of  her  poor,  fond  mother,  the  crime  of  belong 
ing  to  me,  and  of  being  a  part  of  me.     Would  you 
ally  yourself — would  you  even  associate — with  the 
1 6* 


370 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


daughter  of  one  of  the  worst  criminals  on  the  face 
of  the  earth?" 

With  a  faint  ay,  Vera  fell  to  the  floor,  as  if  struck 
down  by  a  resistless  blow.  Saville  instantly  lifted 
her  up,  saying, 

"  Don't  grieve  so,  darling.  He  charges  you  with 
no  fault,  only  misfortune." 

Her  father  looked  at  him  in  great  surprise  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said, 

"  Well,  since  you  differ  so  greatly  from  the  rest 
of  the  world,  you  may  take  her  away,  where  her  re 
lation  to  me  may  never  be  known.  If  she  could 
escape  from  under  the  curse  which  crushed  her 
mother,  I  would  esteem  it  a  boundless  favor.  For 
me  there  is  no  hope." 

"  Will  you  go  with  me,  Vera  ? "  asked  Saville 
gently,  pressing  her  closer  to  his  heart. 

"  Go,  Vera,  go,  since  he  is  willing  to  take  you," 
said  her  father  earnestly.  "  The  thought  that  you 
were  safe  and  happy  would  render  the  miserable 
remnant  of  my  life  more  endurable." 

Vera's  sobs  ceased  speedily,  and  she  became  very 
quiet.  After  a  moment  or  two,  she  raised  her  head 
from  Saville's  shoulder,  and  said  distinctly, 

"  No,  I  will  not  leave  you.  You  are  my  father, 
and  my  dying  mother  commended  you  to  my  care." 

"  O  God  !  "  exclaimed  her  father,  "  that  I  should 
have  brought  down  the  curse  on  two  such  hearts ! 
My  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear." 

11  Theron,"  continued  Vera,  drawing  away  from 
him,  and  trying  to  steady  herself  in  her  weakness 
and  strong  emotion,  "  the  blow  has  fallen  ;  I  have 


VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME. 


371 


felt  it  coming  all  day.  We  must  indeed  part ;  there 
is  no  help  for  it,  for  my  duty  is  here.  You  must 
leave  us  to  our  fate  ;  for,  as  father  says,  you  cannot 
continue  to  associate  with  such  as  we  are." 

"  Leave  you  !  "  he  cried,  drawing  her  closely  to 
his  side,  and  looking  down  into  her  pale  face  with 
an  honest,  manly  flush  of  indignation  on  his.  "  May 
every  plague  in  nature  fall  on  my  dishonored  head 
if  I  do  !  You  are  rightly  called  '  Vera,'  for  a  truer 
heart  than  yours  never  beat;  and  I  am  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  lose  it.  I  shall  not  ask  her  to  leave  you, 
sir,"  he  said,  addressing  her  father;  "but  I  charge 
you,  by  the  memory  of  your  dead  wife,  and  as  you 
value  your  safety,  to  place  no  obstacle  in  my  way,  as  I 
seek  to  make  her  happy  in  this,  her  mountain  home." 

"  Theron,"  said  Vera,  in  a  low,  thrilling  tone,  that 
he  never  forgot,  "  I  did  not  know  that  there  was  so 
noble  a  man  in  all  the  world." 

"  Give  me  no  credit,"  he  replied.  "  To  very  few 
does  there  come  such  a  chance  for  happiness  as  I 
have  found  in  you.  Come  with  me  out  under  the 
starlight,  for  I  have  much  to  say  to  you." 

Before  leaving  the  cabin,  however,  he  turned  to 
her  father,  who  sat  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands, 
and  said, 

"  I  know  not,  and  will  never  seek  to  know,  what  you 
have  done,  and  I  believe  that  your  remorse  is  greater 
than  your  crime  ;  but,  as  the  father  of  this  dear  and 
innocent  maiden,  I  shall  always  treat  you  with 
respect.  You  have  acted  honorably  to-night,  and  I 
honor  you  for  it.  I  take  my  present  course  delib 
erately,  and  with  my  eyes  fully  open." 


372 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


11 1  fear  that  you  will  have  cause  for  regret ;  and 
yet,  for  Vera's  sake,  I  hope  it  may  be  for  the  best." 

"  I  will  never  leave  you,  father,"  said  his  daughter, 
tenderly  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  kiss 
ing  him. 

Tears  came  into  the  poor  man's  eyes,  and  he  said 
huskily, 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  this.    Go,  go  ;  it  pains  me!  " 

Saville,  in  the  impulse  of  his  strong  love  and  ex 
citement,  had  decided  to  tell  Vera  just  how  he  was 
situated,  believing  that,  in  view  of  the  circumstances, 
she  would  accept  of  his  life-long  devotion,  though 
unsanctioned  by  any  formal  rites ;  but  her  first  glad 
and  natural  utterance,  as  they  stepped  out  into  the 
quiet  night,  checked  the  words  upon  his  lips. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  thank  God !  "  How 
good  my  Heavenly  Father  has  been  tome!  Oh! 
that  I  could  tell  mother  how  happy  I  am !  " 

Saville  was  silent.  It  was  his  turn  to  experience 
a  prophetic  chill  of  dread.  What  had  that  old  He 
brew  divinity,  at  whom  he  had  scoffed  so  many 
years,  to  do  with  his  happiness  or  hers?  But  now 
He  rose  up  before  him  like  a  grim,  remorseless  idol, 
to  which  the  maiden  at  his  side,  so  gentle  and  loving, 
and  yet  so  strong,  might  sacrifice  both  herself  and 
him. 

Prudence  whispered,  "You  had  better  net  tell 
her  to-night,  you  have  too  much  at  stake  ;  wait." 
And  so,  instead  of  telling  her  the  sad  story  of  his 
past  blindness  and  folly,  with  their  consequences,  he 
led  her  thoughts  away  from  every  painful  theme, 
resolving  that  they  both  should  have  one  happy 


V 'ERA'S  ONLY  CRIME. 


373 


hour,  \vhatever  might  be  on  the  morrow.  And  yet, 
remembering  the  only  relation  he  could  offer,  he  did 
not  dare  speak  frankly  of  his  love,  and  could  only 
comfort  her  with  the  general  assurance  that  he  would 
nevei  leave  her  to  the  desolation  which  her  father's 
language  had  so  awfully  described.  He  spoke  of 
their  old,  happy  trysts,  and  promised  that  they 
should  be  continued  as  often  as  his  duties  per 
mitted.  Thus,  while  he  did  not  openly  and  for 
mally  declare  his  love,  it  so  pervaded  his  tone  and 
manner  as  to  abundantly  satisfy  Vera,  whose  quick 
intuitions  scarcely  needed  words. 


374  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

VERA   MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST. 

THAT  night  Saville  slept  but  little.  He  had 
thought  that  he  had  settled,  in  the  afternoon, 
the  question  of  his  future  relation  to  Vera ;  but  the 
strange,  unexpected  events  of  the  evening,  after  her 
father's  return,  had  given  the  problem,  in  his  view, 
an  entirely  new  aspect.  The  future  he  had  pro 
posed  for  the  maiden — the  chance  for  a  happy  life 
under  its  ordinary  and  normal  conditions  in  society-r- 
seemed  utterly  blotted  out  and  rendered  impossible, 
and  through  no  fault  or  weakness  of  his. 

Saville  was  full  of  generous  and  noble  impulses, 
and  Vera's  fidelity  to  her  father  excited  his  bound 
less  admiration  and  respect,  and  greatly  increased 
his  affection  for  her.  In  contrasting  the  faithful  girl 
with  his  selfish  and  malicious  wife,  he  could  scarcely 
believe  that  they  both  belonged  to  the  same  race. 

But,  as  he  saw  that  Vera's  beauty  of  character 
equaled  that  of  her  form  and  features,  the  more  un 
speakable  became  his  reluctance  to  attempt  any  such 
self-sacrifice  as  he  had  resolved  upon  in  the  after 
noon.  Nor  did  it  now  seem  necessary,  or  even  right, 
that  he  should.  Every  avenue  into  the  world  was 


VERA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST.          375 

closed  against  her,  and  she  looked  to  him  alone  for 
happiness. 

The  fact  of  her  love  was  most  apparent;  and  she, 
no  more  than  himself,  could  be  satisfied  with  the  fic 
tion  of  fraternal  affection. 

But  one  thing  now  stood  in  the  way  of  their  hap 
piness,  and  that  was  what  he  regarded  as  her  super 
stitious  faith.  Holding  her  present  belief,  what  he 
must  propose  would  seem  wrong,  and  only  by  teach 
ing  her  his  own  philosophy  could  he  make  it  appear 
otherwise.  But  even  if  this  were  possible,  he  had 
promised,  at  her  mother's  grave,  on  the  day  of  burial, 
that  he  would  never  do  aught  to  shake  the  child's 
confidence  in  that  mother's  teachings,  or  lead  from 
the  course  which  the  parent  would  approve.  Did 
not  that  pledge  prove  as  insuperable  a  bar  as  his 
wretched  marriage  ?  And  he  cursed  his  destiny  as  the 
most  cruel  that  had  ever  fallen  to  the  lot  of  man. 

But  as,  in  the  long,  wakeful  hours,  he  sought  some 
solution  of  the  problem,  this  thought  occurred : 
When  he  made  that  promise,  he  had  foreseen  no  such 
emergency  as  this.  Should  he  be  more  loyal  to  his 
own  hasty  pledge  than  to  her  whose  welfare  now 
wholly  depended  upon  him  ?  In  breaking  the  prom 
ise,  he  would  only  be  more  true  to  her.  He  believed 
that  her  mother  was  only  a  memory.  She  was  dead  ; 
she  had  ceased  to  exist.  He  was  a  strong,  living 
friend. 

As  long  as  the  religious  delusion  which  the  mother 
had  taught  her  child  had  been  a  comfort  and  a  sup 
port,  it  was  right  and  kind  not  to  disturb  it.  But 
should  he  permit  this  delusion — this  old,  antiquated 


376 


NEAR    TG  NATURE'S  HEART. 


superstition,  from  which  the  advanced  thinkers  of 
the  world  were  fast  freeing  themselves — to  stand  in 
the  way  of  actual  and  priceless  advantages  ?  Both 
Vera  and  himself  would  soon  cease  to  exist,  and 
the  opportunity  for  enjoyment  would  pass  away  for 
ever.  Why,  then,  let  an  imaginary  spectre  in  the 
path,  that  a  bold  approach  and  scrutiny  would  dissi 
pate,  prevent  a  lifetime  of  happiness?  Was  he  not 
even  under  sacred  obligations  to  take  the  trammels 
from  her  mind,  when  they  would  cause  such  remedi 
less  loss  ? 

The  honest  theorist  believed  that  duty  coincided 
with  inclination,  and  starting  with  this  premise,  there 
was  no  other  conclusion  possible. 

But  the  question  which  troubled  him  most  was, 
Could  he  do  this?  He  had  been  shown  how  much 
the  word  duty  meant  to  Vera.  Her  faith  was  sim 
ple  and  absolute,  and  having  been  taught  by  her 
mother,  was  most  dear  and  sacred.  He  foresaw 
that  the  task  would  be  exceedingly  difficult,  and  yet 
there  seemed  no  other  course. 

He  resolved  to  attempt  it  as  the  only  way  out  of 
his  cruel  dilemma ;  and  it  was  a  habit  of  his  mind, 
when  he  had  reasoned  a  thing  out  to  his  satisfac 
tion,  to  rest  firmly  in  the  conclusion.  It  was  not  in 
his  nature  to  be  ever  looking  back  with  doubts  and 
misgivings.  He  had  no  fears  but  that  he  could 
make  a  home  in  that  secluded  mountain  region, 
after  the  war  was  over,  which  would  contain  more 
of  the  elements  of  happiness  than  he  could  find  else 
where.  And  if  she  were  willing,  he  was  perfectly 
ready  to  proclaim  to  the  world  that  the  impulses  of 


VERA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST.         377 

nature  are  the  only  true  and  binding  laws,  and  to 
support  his  creed  by  his  open  example.  He  knew 
that  his  proud,  conservative  mother  would  never  ap 
prove  of  his  course  ;  but  this  was  too  near  and  per 
sonal  a  question  to  be  decided  by  her  prejudices. 
He  therefore  decided  to  conceal  the  fact  of  his  mar 
riage  from  the  maiden,  as  much  for  her  sake  as  his 
own.  For,  if  she  learned  of  it  prematurely,  before 
receiving  the  enlightenment  of  mind  which  he  hoped 
to  bring  by  his  teaching,  she,  in  her  strong  supersti 
tion,  might  destroy,  not  only  his  happiness,  but  her 
own. 

Having  settled  upon  his  course,  he  fell  into  a  re 
freshing  slumber,  which  lasted  till  late  in  the  follow 
ing  morning,  when  he  was  awakened  by  the  report 
of  Vera's  gun.  On  going  out,  she  met  him  joyously, 
exclaiming, 

"  My  aim  is  truer  to-day.  See  what  a  royal 
dinner  you  are  to  have  !  " 

"  I  will  come  to  your  banquet,  Queen  Esther." 

"  You  might  do  worse.  And  I'm  glad  you  have 
no  hateful  Haman  to  bring  with  you."  Then  she 
added  musingly,  "  How  often  I  have  read  that  story. 
Do  you  know  that  I  think  some  of  those  old  Bible 
tales  are  very  strange  ?  " 

"  Little  wonder,"  he  replied,  with  an  expressive 
shrug. 

"  But  I  believe  them,'*  she  said  stoutly. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  he  replied  laughing ;  "  even  to 
the  acceptance  of  that  marvelous,  long-eared  beast 
which  was  wiser  than  the  prophet,  and  spoke  his 
master's  vernacular.  There,  forgive  me !  I  did  not 


3; 8  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

mean  to  pain  your  dear,  credulous  heart.  You  must 
remember,  in  charity  to  me,  how  these  stories  sound 
to  a  man.  I  hope  you  feel  as  well  and  happy  as  I 
do  this  morning.  But  I  need  not  ask,  when  I  see 
the  tints  of  these  October  leaves  in  your  cheeks." 

"  Here  is  one  that  is  brown,  and  here  another, 
yellow  and  green,"  replied  Vera,  in  like  playful 
spirit,  permitting  the  cloud  to  pass  from  her  brow. 

"  And  here  is  one  as  beautiful  as  that  dawn  which 
I  saw  reflected  in  your  face  after  the  night  you  so 
patiently  watched  over  me.  Was  that  rich  color 
only  the  reflection  of  the  sky,  Vera?" 

"  You  had  just  waked  up,  and  could  not  see  any 
thing  plainly.  But  a  busy  housekeeper  must  not 
stand  idling  here.  Come  and  see  what  Gula  has  for 
breakfast." 

The  day  passed  like  a  happy  dream  to  them  both. 
With  a  shy,  maidenly  reserve,  Vera  checked  any 
open  expression  or  manifestation  of  the  love  she 
was  content  to  see  in  his  face  and  catch  in  his  tones, 
while  the  garish  light  of  day  lasted.  But  when  they 
again  walked  out  in  the  starlight,  Saville  would  be 
put  off  no  longer,  and  he  asked, 

"  Vera,  do  you  know  why  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  leave  you  ?  " 

"  You  said,  yesterday  afternoon,  that  I  was  your 
dear  sister,"  she  faltered. 

"That  is  an  endearing  term ;  but  did  it  satisfy 
you?" 

She  was  silent,  and  he  felt  her  hand  tremble  on 
his  arm. 

11 1  do  not  think  it  did.     Your  wistful  eyes,  uncon* 


VERA   MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST.         379 

sciously  to  yourself,  pleaded  for  something  more— 
some  dearer  term.  Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

*'  Do  you  remember  what  you  were  saying  when 
I  found  you  in  Fort  Clinton  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Tell  me  what  I  said." 

"  I  would  rather  that  you  remembered." 

11 1  was  thinking  of  you,  Vera.  I  supposed  they 
would  be  my  last  waking  thoughts,  and  I  said,  '  My 
more  than  sister,  my  heart's  true  mate.'  Were  not 
those  my  words  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  they  have  made  sweet  echoes  in  my 
ears  ever  since,  though  I  did  not  till  last  night  under 
stand  all  they  meant." 

"  Have  they  not  made  echoes  in  your  heart  also  ? 
Have  you  not  found  your  own  true  mate?" 

"  '  Thou  knowest/  Theron,  *  the  mask  of  night  is 
on  my  face  ;  else  would  a  maiden  blush '  tell  you  all. 
I  cannot  add,  with  Juliet, 

If  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won, 

I'll  frown,  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay  ;' 

for  you  know  well,  already,  that  I  am  wholly  yours. 
Indeed,  if  my  heart  had  been  as  cold  toward  you 
yesterday  as  it  was  tender,  I  could  not  fail  of  being 
won  by  your  generous — O  Theron !  your  course 
toward  me,  who  am  so  poor,  friendless,  and  shad 
owed  with  evil  and  shame,  overwhelms  me  with 
gratitude." 

"  Any  other  course  would  bring  me  life-long  wretch 
edness.  Now  what  cause  have  you  for  gratitude  ?  " 

"  More  cause,  since  what  you  give  is  not  an  alms1 


3  So 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


for  though  I  should  perish  without  your  love,  I 
could  not  take  it  as  a  charity.  But  are  you  sure 
you  will  never  regret  your  action  ?  My  heart  mis* 
gives  me  when  I  think  of  it ;  the  world  can  offer 
you  so  much !  You  might  easily  win  one  who  is 
dowered  with  wealth,  rank,  and  beauty,  instead  of 
poor  me,  who  am  heiress  only  of  a  curse." 

Saville  thought,  with  a  mental  oath  of  execration, 
how  he  had  won  such  a  one  as  she  described  ;  but, 
with  the  purpose  of  banishing  all  such  misgivings  on 
her  part,  he  said, 

"  If  I  were  an  ambitious  boy  who  had  never  seen 
the  world,  there  might,  possibly,  be  some  ground  for 
your  fears ;  but  from  my  youth  I  have  been  out  in 
the  world,  and  know  much  about  it ;  and  never,  in 
my  happiest  moments  there,  did  I  experience  half 
the  content  I  found  in  your  companionship,  even 
when  I  was  first  learning  to  know  your  worth,  as  we 
talked  together  on  the  height  back  of  your  old  home, 
near  West  Point.  Now  that  I  have  come  to  love 
you,  now  that  I  justly  honor  you  above  all  other 
women,  can  you  imagine  I  could  ever  think  of  an 
other?  It  is  because  I  have  seen  the  world,  and 
know  what  it  contains,  and  how  little  it  can  do  for 
me,  that  I  prize  you  far  beyond  it  all ;  and  it  is 
because  you  are  so  innocent  and  unworldly  that  you 
do  not  know  your  own  value.  If  I  had  met  you  in 
society,  I  should  have  had  scores  of  rivals." 

"  Now  I  fear  you  are  flattering  me,"  she  said 
laughing ;  "  but  you  would  have  had  no  cause  for 
fear.  I  shall  come  to  believe  in  my  value,  only  as  I 
can  make  you  happy." 


VERA   MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST.          381 

"  Then  I  fear  you  will  grow  vain,  indeed,  for  you 
will  find  that  your  power  is  unbounded  in  this  re 
spect." 

"  O  Theron  !  if  I  could  induce  you  to  accept  of  my 
faith,  what  you  say  would  eventually  be  true.  I 
cannot  help  telling  you  now,  at  the  commencement 
of  our  new  and  happy  life,  that  I  can  never  rest — 
never  be  satisfied  —  till  mother's  favorite  words 
from  the  Bible,  '  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled, 
neither  let  it  be  afraid,'  mean  to  you  what  they  did 
to  her  and  do  to  me.  For  some  reason,  God  had 
seemed  afar  off,  and  I  was  losing  my  faith  in  His 
goodness  and  mercy  ;  but,  from  the  time  He  enabled 
me  to  find  you  in  the  fort;  I  have  felt  differently, 
and  now  I  cannot  thank  and  love  Him  enough." 

Saville  was  dismayed.  This  was  reversing  matters, 
and  the  one  he  proposed  to  win  over  to  atheism 
was  fully  bent  on  leading  him  to  become  a  Christian. 

After  a  moment  she  added,  "  I  miss  my  Bible  so 
much.  Won't  you  get  me  another,  Theron?" 

"  I  cannot,"  he  said,  a  little  abruptly;  and  then 
continued,  very  gently,  "  We  must  agree  to  dismiss 
this  subject,  Vera,  darling ;  the  Bible  is  not  to  me 
what  it  is  to  you.  and  it  never  can  be.  Great  as  my 
faults  are,  I  try  to  be  honest ;  and  with  you  I  cannot 
help  being  sincere.  If  you  regarded  the  Bible  as  a 
result  of  human  genius,  like  the  plays  of  Shakspeare, 
I  would  get  you  one ;  but  I  cannot  aid  you  in 
making  its  unnatural  teaching  and  stories  the  law  of 
your  conscience." 

11  O  Theron !  "  exclaimed  Vera,  bursting  into  tears, 
and  hiding  her  face  upon  his  shoulder. 


382  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

11 1  knew  what  I  said  would  pain  you,  darling,  but 
I  could  not  help  it.  Would  you  have  me  act  the 
part  of  a  hypocrite?  I  am  just  as  sincere  as  you 
are.  You  have  told  me  your  views  and  faith,  and  I 
tell  you  mine.  As  you  believe  in  the  Bible,  I  be 
lieve  in  man  and  nature ;  and  I  see  in  you  her  most 
perfect  work." 

"  But  God  is  the  author  of  both  man  and  nature," 
said  Vera  eagerly. 

"  I  see  no  proof  of  it,  and  much  to  the  contrary," 
answered  Saville  decidedly.  "  Moreover,  the  great 
and  wise  of  the  world,  who  do  their  own  thinking, 
hold  the  same  views  that  I  do.  As  the  subject  has 
come  up  between  us,  I  could  not 'help  being  honest 
with  you,  as  I  ever  shall  be  ;  but  do  not  let  us  dwell 
on  it  any  longer  now." 

Vera  sighed  deeply,  but  only  said,  "  I  cannot 
understand  how  any  one  can  be  so  good  and  noble 
as  you  are  and  not  believe  in  the  Bible.  I  never 
even  dreamed  that  it  could  be  otherwise  than  true, 
and  to  doubt  it  seems  impossible.  And  yet  I  know 
you  are  as  sincere  as  I  am." 

"  And  thus  you  prove  that  you  are  no  bigot, 
darling ;  for,  as  a  general  thing,  the  devotees  of  all 
the  various  religions  of  the  world  are  prone  to  re 
gard  those  who  cannot  think  just  as  they  do  as 
willful,  wicked  wretches,  who  ought  to  be  knocked 
promptly  on  the  head.  If  you  can't  convert  me,  I 
am  sure  you  will  not  put  me  to  torture,  will  you, 
dear  ?  " 

"  If  I  did,  I  should  torture  myself  most.  But, 
Theron,  this  is  too  sad  a  subject  for  me  to  jest 


VERA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST.         383 

about.  I  shall  never  cease  to  hope  that  you  will 
some  day  think  as  I  do.  God  can  incline  your 
heart  toward  Him  as  easily  as  He  bends  the  tops  of 
yonder  trees." 

"  Now,  Vera,  darling,  that  is  the  wind  which  is 
bending  the  treetops.  Let  us  drop  this  subject  for 
the  present.  We  have  both  been  honest  with  each 
other,  and  we  could  not  be  otherwise.  There  is  so 
much  on  which  we  lovingly  and  heartily  agree,  why 
dwell  on  the  one  thing  wherein  we  differ?"  And 
he  strove,  with  all  a  lover's  zeal,  to  banish  her  sad 
thoughts.  She  loved  him  too  well  to  permit  him  to 
see  that  he  failed.  Indeed  he  did  not  fail.  The  cup 
of  happiness  which  he  placed  to  her  lips  filled  her 
with  a  strange  delight,  even  while  she  remained 
conscious  that  it  contained  one  bitter  dreg. 

The  following  days  passed  all  too  quickly  for 
them  both.  It  was  part  of  Saville's  scheme  to  so 
enchain  her  affections  that  she  could  not  take  any 
other  course,  when  the  test  came,  than  that  which 
he  proposed ;  and  it  would  seem  that  he  was  suc 
ceeding  beyond  his  hopes.  Her  capability  of  loving 
was  large,  and  she  had  but  few  other  ties  and  interests 
to  draw  her  thoughts  from  him.  His  mind  was  cul 
tivated,  versatile,  ever  full  of  bright,  fresh  thoughts; 
and  thus  his  society  was  to  her  like  a  sweet,  exhil 
arating  wine.  But  that  which  weighed  more  with  her 
than  all  else  was  the  ever-present  memory  of  his 
devoted  loyalty  to  her,  when  she  knew  that  the 
great  majority  of  the  world  would  have  shrunk 
away,  She  looked  forward  to  their  parting  with  in 
expressible  dread,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  con- 


384  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

stant  dangers  to  which  as  a  soldier  he  must  be 
exposed,  gave  to  her  affection  a  tenderness,  which 
only  those  who  hold  their  heart-idols  in  uncertain 
tenure  can  understand. 

During  the  latter  part  of  his  stay,  Saville  wasted 
no  hours  in  love-idyls ;  but  was  busy,  in  every  pos 
sible  way,  in  providing  for  her  security  and  comfort 
during  the  coming  winter.  He  sent  Tascar  repeat 
edly  across  the  mountains  for  such  things  as  were 
needed,  and  also  employed  him  in  constructing  a 
secure  though  hidden  bridle-path  down  into  the 
glen.  He  induced  Mr.  Brown  to  aid*  him  in  build 
ing  substantial  shelter  for  a  horse,  two  or  three 
cows,  and  some  poultry.  On  the  margin  of  a 
neighboring  pond  there  was  still  forage  which  might 
be  cut,  which,  with  the  grain  that  he  intended  to 
send,  would  be  sufficient  provision  until  spring  again 
brought  its  abundant  supply. 

Vera  amused  SaviJle  one  day  by  her  spirit  of  inde 
pendence. 

"  We  cannot  receive  all  this,"  she  said,  "  without 
making  some  return." 

"  Give  me  a  kiss,  and  I  am  amply  repaid,"  he  an 
swered. 

"  I  am  in  earnest,"  she  continued.  "Is  there  not 
some  way  in  which  I  can  earn  money?" 

"  Yes,  you  have  only  to  do  as  I  ask,  and  you  shall 
receive  the  greater  part  of  my  pay." 

"  But  something  tells  me  that  this  is  not  right, 
Theron;  at  least,  not  yet." 

He  knew  that  she  meant  not  until  they  were 
married.  But,  feeling  that  he  could  never  have  a 


VERA   MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST.          385 

better  right  than  now,  he  tried  to  satisfy  her  by  say 
ing, 

"  Since  I  am  yours,  body  and  soul,  can  I  not  share 
that  with  you  which  I  value  only  as  it  can  minister 
to  your  comfort  ?  This  is  the  beginning  of  our 
future  home,  and  you  are  doing  more  to  make  it 
homelike  than  I  can." 

"  Oh  dear !  "  she  cried,  half  poutfng,  half  laughing ; 
"  do  men  always  have  their  own  way?  " 

"  No,  my  fairy  queen.  I  will  one  day  be  your 
slave." 

"  Why  not  add  that  you  will  take  the  part  of  Cali 
ban,  and  that  I  will  call  'What,  ho !  slave!  Caliban  ! 
make  our  fire  ;  fetch  in  our  wood/  Oh  !  but  you 
will  be  '  a  brave  monster,'  Theron  !  " 

"  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  will  be  Prospero,  and  you 
*  my  quaint  Ariel ;'  but  I  will  never  give  thee  thy  free 
dom." 

"  Indeed  !  this  is  reversing  the  order ;  and  yet 
I  now  think  you  are  nearer  right.  I  am  *  to  answer 
thy  best  pleasure/  and  do  '  thy  strong  bidding.' 
Your  pet  name  of  Ariel  always  makes  me  laugh, 
however,  for  you  forget  that  the  spirit  says,  '  To  thy 
strong  bidding  task  Ariel,  and  all  his  quality.'  Tas- 
car  must  be  your  Ariel,  and  I  will  be " 

"  My  heart's  true  mate.  Come,  there  is  Gula  sum 
moning  us  to  supper ;  "  and  with  a  glance  that  gave 
the  confiding  girl  more  assurance  than  could  any 
words,  he  led  her  within  the  cabin  that  he  already 
called  "  home,"  and  to  which  their  united  labors 
were  fast  giving  a  homelike  and  inviting  character. 

The  parting  which  soon  came  was  a  sore  trial  to 
17 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Vera,  though,  woman-like,  she  sought  to  hide  from 
her  lover  how  deeply  she  was  pained.  She  comforted 
herself  with  his  assurance,  however,  that  in  all  proba 
bility  he  would  not  be  far  away,  and  that  he  could 
often  visit  her. 


A   HASTY  MARRIAGE.  387 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  HASTY   MARRIAGE. 

ON  reaching  the  headquarters  of  the  force 
defending  the  Highlands,  Saville  received  a 
warm  welcome  from  his  old  associates  and  acquaint 
ances.  And  yet  he  could  not  help  noting  something 
in  their  manner  which  both  puzzled  and  annoyed 
him.  He,  at  first,  suspected  that  Surgeon  Jasper 
had  gossiped  concerning  his  fair  hostess  and  nurse ; 
and,  therefore,  drew  him  aside,  with  the  intention  of 
teaching  him  and  others  a  severe  lesson,  in  case  his 
surmise  proved  correct.  In  matters  personal  to  him 
self  Saville  was  one  to  resent  promptly,  even  to  the 
extent  of  a  bloody  quarrel,  anything  which  he  re 
garded  as  an  unwarrantable  interference  or  liberty. 

"  Jasper,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  believe  that  you 
could  have  so  far  forgotten  the  confidential  relations 
which  you,  as  my  medical  adviser,  sustained  to  me, 
as  to  babble  of  anything  you  saw  or  surmised  when 
attending  me  in  the  mountains  ;  and  yet  what  does 
the  peculiar  manner  of  my  old  acquaintances  mean  ? 
Why  do  they  turn  and  look  after  me,  and  say  some 
thing  that  is  not  designed  for  my  ears  ?  " 

"  You  are  right,  Saville.  I  am  not  capable  of 
breaking  professional  silence,  even  if  I  had  no  friendly 
regard  for  you.  Come  to  my  quarters." 


388 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


On  reaching  them,  the  surgeon  fastened  the  door, 
and  took  out  a.  New  York  paper. 
"  Read  that,"  he  said. 
"  Mother?"  asked  Saville,  turning  pale. 
"No,  no!     Read!" 
With  a  frown  black  as  night,  Saville  read  : 

"Married,  on  the  I2th  of  October,  Captain  Henry  Vennam,  of 
H,  R.  M.  Service,  to  Mrs.  Julia  Ashburton  Saville,  widow  of  the  late 
Captain  Saville,  who  was  killed  during  the  storming  of  the  forts  in 
the  Highlands  on  the  Hudson.  It  is  well  known  that  Mrs.  Saville 
had  no  sympathy  with  her  husband,  in  his  unnatural  rebellion  against 
his  king,  and  that  her  loyal  hostility  to  his  disloyalty  long  ago  led  to 
a  formal  separation.  This  fact  fully  accounts  for  the  seeming  haste 
with  which  she  has  honored  with  her  hand  the  brave  and  accomplished 
officer  who  this  day  leads  her  to  the  altar." 

With  a  deep  imprecation,  Saville  crushed  the 
paper  in  his  hand,  and  then  sat  motionless,  with 
contracting  brows,  like  one  trying  to  think  his  way 
out  of  some  unexpected  emergency. 

"  From  one  of  our  spies  who  has  since  come  in," 
said  the  surgeon,  "  we  have  learned  the  additional 
fact,  that  this  fellow,  Vennam,  found  you  himself  in 
the  fort,  and  brought  away  your  sword  as  proof  of 
your  death.  It  is  well  he  did  not  use  it  to  let  out 
what  little  life  you  had  left." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  would,  and  with  her 
full  approval,  if  he  had  supposed  I  was  alive,"  said 
Saville  abstractedly. 

"  That's  a  harsh  accusation  to  bring  against  your 
wife." 

"  Curse  her ! "  cried  Saville,  starting  up  in  great 
agitation.  "  That  is  the  most  infernal  part  of  this 


A  HASTY  MARRIAGE.  389 

whole  shameful  business  !  She  is  still  my  wife.  If  I 
were  only  rid  of  her  forever,  I  could  forgive  the  in 
sult  of  her  indecent  haste  in  seeking  the  altar  with 
another  man ;  but  the  law  still  binds  me  to  her,  as 
fiendish  cruelty  once  chained  criminals  to  a  putrefy 
ing  corpse." 

-*  "  It's  only  too  true,  Saville ;  her  marriage  with 
that  officer  was  only  an  empty  form.  Will  she 
remain  with  him,  do  you  think  ?  She  must  have 
heard  that  you  are  alive  by  this  time." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Saville  desperately.  "She 
is  none  too  good.  If  she  would  only  break  her 
neck  before  she  breaks  my  heart ! " 

"  Well,  Saville,  pardon  me  for  saying  it ;  but  I 
think  you  will  find  both  comfort  and  revenge  in 
yonder  mountains." 

"  Jasper,"  said  Saville  gravely,  "  you  are  my 
friend  ;  but  touch  lightly  on  that  subject.  If  I  were 
free  to  marry  that  innocent  maiden,  who,  you  know 
well,  is  unrivaled  in  all  that  can  win  respect  and 
love,  I  would  esteem  it  more  than  the  best  gift  of 
the  world.  She  saved  my  life  when  that  vile  thing 
the  law  calls  my  wife  was  waiting  with  murderous 
eagerness  to  hear  of  my  death." 

"  I  admit  that  you  cannot  legally  marry  your  wild 
flower  ;  but  you  know  what  men  do  every  day,  and 
without  a  tithe  of  your  excuse.  She  is  evidently 
the  daughter  of  a  criminal,  and  can  never  hope  for 
any  better  future  than  you  can  offer." 

"  The  honest  love  and  devoted,  lifelong  loyalty 
which  I  would  offer  I  believe  to  be  right  and  honor 
able.  Do  you  suppose  that  I  could  ask  that  true, 


390 


NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 


pure  girl,  to  whom  I  owe  so  much,  to  do  anything 
that  I  regarded  as  base,  or  even  wrong?  That  she 
is  friendless  and  defenseless ;  that  her  father,  who 
should  be  her  natural  protector,  has  only  darkened 
her  life  by  some  evil  deed,  all  make  it  more  imper 
ative  that  I,  as  a  man  of  honor,  should  be  faithful 
to  her  interests.  I  do  most  sincerely  believe  that  I 
have  a  right  to  offer  her  my  love ;  but,  with  her 
faith  and  training,  I  fear  that  I  can  never  make  it 
appear  so  to  her,  when  she  comes  to  know  of  that 
woman  in  New  York." 

"  Well,"  said  the  surgeon,  with  a  shrug,  "  I  am 
neither  Christian  nor  philosopher.  I  take  the 
world  as  I  find  it,  and  try  to  have  as  comfortable  a 
time  as  I  can  every  day,  hoping  that  the  good  luck 
which  I  have  always  had  here  will  follow  me  into 
the  next  life,  if  there  is  any." 

"  Well  added,"  replied  Saville  bitterly  ;  "  '  if  there 
is  any ! '  If  men  used  their  reason,  and  believed 
what  they  saw,  they  would  know  there  is  not.  This 
life  would  be  abundantly  sufficient,  and  in  the  main 
happy,  did  not  superstition  and  the  monstrous  laws 
it  has  spawned  curse  and  thwart  us  on  every  side. 
But,  farewell,  my  friend ;  I  have  much  to  think  of, 
and  I  will  inflict  my  ill-starred  affairs  on  you  no 
longer.  Let  all  that  has  passed  between  us  be 
buried  where  no  gossip-monger  can  ever  rake  it 
up." 

After  carefully  considering  the  act  of  his  wife  in 
all  its  aspects,  Saville  concluded  that  it  would  be 
to  his  advantage.  The  haste  of  her  marriage,  which 
she  had  intended  as  an  indignity  to  his  memory, 


A  HASTY  MARRIAGE.  39! 

would  react  against  herself,  and  involve  more  shame 
to  her  than  to  him.  His  hate  was  gratified  at  the 
thought  of  her  intense  mortification  and  disappoint 
ment  when  learning  that  he  was  still  living.  She 
must  either  separate  instantly  from  the  man  for 
whom  she  had  a  passion — of  love  she  was  not 
capable — or  else  be  disgraced  for  life.  At  best, 
even  her  own  party  would  be  far  more  inclined 
toward  censure  than  to  entertain  charity  or  sym 
pathy. 

He  also  felt  utterly  absolved  from  what  he  re 
garded  as  his  rash  promise  to  be  loyal  to  the  mere 
name  of  wife. 

But  the  consideration  which  weighed  most  with 
him  was  the  belief  that  Vera,  in  view  of  her  act, 
could  be  made  to  feel  that  in  reality  he  had  no  wife, 
that  she  had  forfeited  every  claim,  and  so  might 
be  more  surely  led  to  accept  of  Saville  as  her  lover, 
since  he  could  not  be  her  husband. 

The  fact  that  a  certain  amount  of  the  odium  of 
his  wife's  course  would  cling  to  him  in  the  world's 
estimation,  and  that  he  would  always  be  known  as 
the  husband  of  the  woman  who  was  in  such  haste  to 
marry  another  that  she  could  not  wait  till  assured 
of  his  burial,  made  a  secluded  mountain  home,  with 
Vera,  seem  all  the  more  truly  a  refuge. 

Thus,  every  hope  for  the  future  came  to  rest,  more 
completely  than  before,  on  the  success  of  his  scheme 
of  teaching  Vera  that  man  was  a  law  unto  himself, 
and  that  there  was  no  external  power  that  had  a 
right  to  set  in  judgment  on  his  actions. 

A  day  or  two  thereafter,  a  paper  came  through 


392  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

the  lines,  from  New  York,  containing  the  following 
item : 

"  TRUTH  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION. — Captain  Saville,  whom  all 
supposed  killed  at  Fort  Clinton,  is  alive.  It  is  said  that  he  was 
taken  from  the  fort,  late  at  night,  by  some  people  whom  he  had  be 
friended,  and  carried  back  in  the  mountains  ;  and  that,  though  very 
severely  wounded,  he  is  rapidly  recovering.  These  facts  are  so  well 
authenticated  that  his  wife  has  left  Captain  Vennam's  quarters,  and  re 
turned  to  her  relatives.  It  is  said  that  they  are  deeply  incensed  against 
the  unfortunate  officer,  who  rather  deserves  sympathy,  since  he  has 
become,  in  a  certain  sense,  a  widower.  There  seems  to  have  been 
strange  blundering  in  the  case  somewhere.  Perhaps  the  eyes  of  the 
gallant  captain  were  still  blinded  with  the  smoke  of  battle,  when  he 
supposed  that  he  saw  Saville  dead.  There  may  be  new  developments 
in  the  comedy,  or  tragedy,  whichever  it  may  prove,  before  many 
days." 

Saville  smiled  grimly  as  he  read  it,  and  then  tossed 
it  contemptuously  aside. 


SEEMING  SUCCESS. 


393 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

SEEMING  SUCCESS. 

LATER  in  the  day,  Saville  received  a  document 
which  he  read  with  keen  delight.  It  was  a 
leave  of  absence  from  his  commanding  officer,  in 
which  he  was  complimented  on  his  behavior  in  the 
recent  battle,  and  congratulated  upon  his  remarkable 
escape.  "  The  campaign  is  over,"  the  writer  went 
on  to  say,  "  and  it  is  not  yet  fully  decided  just 
where,  in  the  Highlands,  the  future  works  will  be 
erected.  Surgeon  Jasper  also  informs  me  that,  in 
your  zeal  for  the  service,  you  have  reported  for  duty 
rather  sooner  than  the  condition  of  your  wound 
warrants.  You  are  therefore  requested  to  leave 
your  address  at  these  headquarters,  and  are  per 
mitted  to  be  absent  until  notified." 

"  Jasper,  this  is  your  work,"  said  Saville,  entering 
the  surgeon's  quarters. 

"Well,  suppose  it  is;  what  have  you  got  to  say 
about  it  ?"  replied  Jasper,  lifting  his  broad,  good- 
natured  face  to  the  speaker. 

"  I  say  this,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  mon 
ami,  may  you  never  have  to  take  any  of  your  own 
medicine !  " 

"  Amen  !  "  cried  the  surgeon.  "  I  was  never  wish- 
17* 


394  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

ing  better  luck  than  that.  But  hold  on,  you  are  not 
through  with  me  yet.  I  jogged  th£  general's  elbow 
only  that  I  might  get  a  chance  to  jockey  you  on  a 
horse.  I've  a  beast  that's  a  little  too  skittish  for 
one  of  my  weight  and  temperament,  and  it  occurred 
to  me  that  if  I  gave  you  a  chance  to  make  a  quick 
journey,  you  would  buy  him." 

"  Name  your  price;  charge  what  you  please;  I'm 
wholly  at  your  mercy,"  laughed  Saville. 

"  That  is  the  condition  in  which  I  always  like  to 
get  a  patient,  for  I  can  then  bleed  him  to  my  own 
satisfaction.  But  if  you  were  not  my  friend,  Saville, 
I  would  charge  you  twice  as  much  as  I  am  going  to 
ask." 

The  bargain  was  soon  made,  nor  did  Saville  regret 
it,  when,  on  the  following  short  November  day,  the 
fleet  animal  carried  him  safely  to  the  mountain 
gorge  that  he  hoped  would  henceforth  be  the  Mecca 
of  all  his  pilgrimages. 

He  did  not  go  clattering  down  the  bridle-path ; 
but,  tying  his  horse  some  distance  away,  stole  up  to 
the  cabin  unperceived,  and  looked  in  at  the  window. 
How  vividly,  in  after  years,  he  remembered  the  pic 
ture  he  then  saw  !  Vera  sat  alone,  on  one  side  of 
the  ample  hearth  ;  her  work  had  fallen  on  the  floor 
at  her  side,  and  her  hands  were  crossed  upon  her 
lap.  She  was  looking  intently  into  the  fire,  as  if  she 
saw  more  there  than  the  rising  and  falling  flames, 
which  now  illumined  her  face  until  its  beauty 
seemed  scarcely  earthly,  and  again  left  it  in  shadow 
that  suggested  almost  equal  loveliness. 

Her  revery  soon  ended  with  a  happy  smile ;  she 


SEEMING  SUCCESS  395 

picked  up  her  work,  and  seemed  chiding  her  idle 
hands  ;  then,  in  obedience  to  another  impulse,  she 
dropped  it  again,  and  her  rich,  powerful  voice  gave 
the  old  refrain, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

She  had  scarcely  sung  the  line  before  Saville  was 
accompanying  her  on  his  flute.  She  stopped  abruptly, 
and  sprang  up,  with  hope  and  fear  both  depicted_on 
her  face.  Was  the  echo  real,  or  a  ghostly  omen  of 
evil  ?  She  darted  to  the  door,  and  Saville  took  her 
into  his  arms. 

How  fondly  she  ever  dwelt  on  the  halcyon  days 
that  followed  !  They  hunted  and  rambled  together 
among  the  hills  that  love  made  beautiful, .even  in 
bleak  November ;  and  when  the  storms  of  early 
winter  roared  in  the  wooded  heights  above  the 
cabin,  the  roar  of  the  crackling  flames  up  the  wide 
chimney  was  louder,  and  the  sound  of  their  merry 
voices  often  louder  still.  Their  mirthfulness,  at 
times,  relaxed  even  the  gloomy  face  of  the  poor 
exile,  and  he  appeared  to  enjoy  a  pale  reflection  of 
their  happiness. 

Saville  also  sought  to  make  the  most  of  the  op 
portunity  which  this  visit  gave,  by  commencing  to 
give  Vera  a  culture  which  would  make  her  more 
companionable  in  future  years.  He  gave  her  lessons 
in  drawing  and  music,  and  found  her  a  most  apt 
scholar  in  these  branches.  He  also  taught  her  how 
to  express  herself  correctly  in  writing,  and  in  the 
evening  she  usually  read  aloud  to  him  for  an  hour  or 
more. 


396  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

He  succeeded  in  obtaining  quite  a  library  for  her. 
Learning  that  among  the  effects  of  a  wealthy  Tory, 
whose  property  had  been  confiscated,  there  was  a 
large  number  of  books,  he  went  to  see  them,  and 
found  that  he  could  buy  them  all  for  a  small  sum. 
He  did  not  wish  them  all,  but  only  such  as  would 
serve  his  purpose,  and  give  Vera  general  culture  and 
knowledge,  without  strengthening  her  faith.  To  his 
joy,  he  found  that  the  library  was  quite  rich,  for  that 
day,  in  history,  travels,  biography,  and  even  philos 
ophy.  It  also  contained  some  of  the  Latin  classics, 
a  translation  of  Homer,  and  the  "  Plays  of  William 
Shakspeare,"  which  he  knew  to  be  so  dear  to  Vera's 
heart.  He  and  Tascar,  who  accompanied  him,  were 
quite  well  laden  on  their  return ;  and  Vera,  at  first, 
was  wild  with  delight  over  these  treasures.  SKe 
looked  hastily  and  eagerly  through  the  collection, 
and  then  sighed  deeply. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  asked  Saville. 

"  There  is  no  Bible  here,"  she  replied  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  No,  Vera,"  he  said  gravely,  and  almost  sternly ; 
for  he  was  beginning  to  regard  this  book  with  bitter 
hostility,  as  the  possible  cause,  in  his  view,  of  wretch 
edness  to  them  both. 

Tears  came  into  the  sensitive  girl's  eyes ;  but  he 
kissed  them  away,  and  sought,  with  his  usual  success, 
to  divert  her  thoughts  from  the  subject  he  most 
dreaded.  He  believed  that  he  could  educate  her 
mind  above  and  beyond  her  superstition,  and  thus 
enable  her  gradually  and  naturally  to  outgrow  it,  as 
he  supposed  that  he  had.  In  this  effort,  he  made 


SEEMING  SUCCESS. 


397 


history  and  books  of  travel  his  chief  allies,  thinking 
that  they  were  best  suited  to  the  simplicity  and 
childlike  character  of  her  mind.  He  skillfully,  yet 
unobtrusively,  caused  her  to  see  that  other  peoples 
and  races  were  as  devoted  to  their  multifarious  re 
ligions  as  she  was  to  hers.  He  placed  before  her, 
though  in  no  argumentative  way  that  would  awaken 
opposition,  the  absurd,  cruel,  and  monstrous  acts  of 
those  who  had  professed  to  be  Christians.  He  sup 
plemented  what  he  read  with  graphic  descriptions. 
The  old  Greeks  and  Romans  were  made  to  live 
again,  and  she  was  shown  that  their  mythology, 
which  lasted  for  centuries,  was  now  in  truth  only  a 
myth,  and  that,  as  the  people  grew  wiser,  they  lost 
faith  in  their  gods. 

Vera  was  not  slow  in  drawing  the  inference,  and 
clouds  of  doubt  began  to  darken  her  mind  ;  but  it 
seemed  so  dreadful  to  question  her  mother's  faith, 
that  she  fought  against  her  unbelief  earnestly,  though 
secretly ;  for  she  knew  that  she  could  obtain  no  help 
from  Saville.  These  doubts,  however,  became  a 
low,  jarring  discord  in  the  sweet  harmony  of  her 
life. 

But  his  personal  influence  had  a  still  stronger 
effect  than  his  suggestion  of  abstract  thought,  and 
of  facts  adverse  to  her  faith.  He  one  day  obtained 
quite  a  clear  glimpse  of  the  silent  workings  of  her 
mind ;  for,  coming  in  unexpectedly,  he  found  her  in 
tears.  To  his  gentle  but  eager  questioning,  she 
sobbed, 

"  O  Theron  !  you  are  pushing  God,  and  all  relating 
to  Him,  out  of  my  heart  and  thoughts,  and  I  am 


398  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

beginning  to  worship  only  you.     My  conscience  tells 
me  that  it  is  not  right,  and  that  evil  will  come  of  it." 

"  Well,  Vera,  darling,"  he  said,  "  this  is  scarcely 
more  than  fair,  since  you  fill  every  nook  and  corner 
of  my  heart,  and  I  have  long  worshiped  you  only." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  new  rush  of  tears  ;  but 
he  comforted  her  with  many  reassuring  words,  and 
she  loved  him  too  well  to  be  willing  to  cloud  his 
face  with  her  trouble.  Her  conscious  effort  to  resist 
his  personal  influence  grew  less  and  less,  and  he 
seemingly  took  sole  possession  of  her  heart. 

As  she  was  situated,  she  was  scarcely  to  be  blamed, 
for  he  had  proved  such  a  true  and  helpful  friend  ; 
he  had  made  such  an  infinite  difference  in  her  life, 
and  was  so  genuinely  human,  so  sympathetic  in  all 
respects,  save  the  one  on  which  they  differed,  that 
her  own  humanity  found  in  him  everything  it  craved. 
Even  in  his  skepticism,  she  was  compelled  to  respect 
him  for  his  evident  sincerity. 

Still,  she  did  not  lose  her  faith  in  God,  nor  did  she 
often  neglect  the  form  of  devotion  ;  but  she  permitted 
Saville's  image  to  crowd  Him  almost  wholly  from  her 
heart  and  thoughts. 

Saville  occasionally  sent  Tascar  with  a  note  of 
inquiry  to  Surgeon  Jasper,  and  thus  kept  himself 
posted  in  regard  to  public  affairs.  During  the  latter 
part  of  January,  he  was  prdered  to  report  to  Lieu 
tenant-Colonel  Radiere,  and  found,  to  his  great 
satisfaction,  that  his  services  would  be  required  at 
West  Point,  from  which  place  he  could  ride  "  home  " 
in  comparatively  brief  time.  The  winter  and  spring 
passed  rapidly  away.  His  hopes  continually  grew 


SEEMING  SUCCESS. 


399 


stronger,  that  his  effort  to  teach  Vera  to  eventually 
feel  and  think  as  he  did,  would  be  crowned  with 
success,  and  he  was  even  more  sure  that  he  had 
made  himself  so  necessary  to  her  very  existence  that 
she  could  never  give  him  up,  even  though  her  con 
science  at  first  might  be  arrayed  against  him. 


4QG  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A  MASTER   MIND  AND   WILL, 

EARLY  in  the  summer,  Saville  received  instruc 
tions  to  go  to  the  main  army  under  Gene 
ral  Washington,  and  thence  to  Philadelphia  (which 
had  recently  been  evacuated  by  the  British  troops), 
upon  business  connected  with  the  Engineer  Depart 
ment. 

•On  his  way  he  stopped  at  the  cabin,  to  inform 
Vera  of  his  journey,  but  assured  her  of  his  speedy 
return.  She  grew  pale  at  the  thought  of  the  possi 
ble  perils  which  he  might  encounter,  but  he  promised 
more  caution  than  it  was  in  his  nature  to  practice, 
and  also  said,  with  a  significant  glance,  that  awak 
ened  a  curiosity  which  he  would  not  then  satisfy, 
that  he  would  bring  her  something  from  Philadel 
phia. 

He  reached  General  Washington's  headquarters 
on  the  eve  of  the  memorable  battle  of  Monmouth. 
Though  jaded  and  worn  by  his  ride,  he  readily  ac 
cepted  Lafayette's  invitation  to  act  as  his  aid,  his 
services  being  specially  valuable  at  this  time,  from 
his  familiarity  with  both  French  and  English. 

The  command  of  the  extreme  advance,  upon 
which  would  devolve  the  important  task  of  first 


A   MASTER  MIND  AND    WILL. 


401 


attacking  the  enemy  preliminary  to  a  general  en 
gagement,  would  properly  fall  to  General  Lee,  who 
was  second  to  Washington  in  rank.  But  Lafayette, 
ever  coveting  the  post  of  danger,  eagerly  sought  to 
be  intrusted  with  this  duty.  As  General  Lee  had 
been  from  the  first  strenuously  opposed  to  the  battle, 
and,  indeed,  to  any  interference  with  the  British  line 
of  march  through  New  Jersey,  Washington  was 
more  than  ready  to  comply,  if  that  officer  would 
waive  his  right  to  lead  in  person.  This  General  Lee 
did  unhesitatingly,  saying  to  the  Marquis,  that  he 
was  only  too  glad  to  be  relieved  from  all  responsi 
bility  in  carrying  out  measures  which  were  destined 
to  fail. 

Lafayette,  therefore,  early  on  the  morning  of  the 
27th  of  June,  advanced  with  a  large  force  toward 
the  enemy.  The  British  troops  were  commanded 
by  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  who,  perceiving  that  a  battle 
must  be  fought,  made  his  dispositions  accordingly, 
moving  his  baggage  forward  on  his  line  of  march, 
but  retaining  the  flower  of  his  army  in  the  rear 
to  repel  the  approaching  Americans.  In  the  mean 
time,  General  Lee  changed  his  mind,  and  requested 
Washington  to  give  him  the  leadership  of  the  ad 
vance  which  he  had  just  relinquished.  Indeed,  as  a 
matter  of  military  etiquette,  he  almost  claimed  it  as 
his  right.  Although  Lee  had  been  bitterly  opposed 
to  Washington's  plan  of  battle,  the  latter  still  be 
lieved  the  crotchety  general  would  do  his  duty  as  an 
officer,  but  did  not  know  how  to  satisfy  his  punc 
tilious  claims  without  wounding  Lafayette.  Learn 
ing,  however,  that  the  British  forces  immediately 


402  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

before  the  Marquis  were  being  rapidly  increased,  he 
dispatched  two  additional  brigades  to  the  front, 
under  the  command  of  Lee,  who,  as  senior  officer 
on  the  field,  would,  as  a  matter  of  course,  outrank 
all  others.  But  Washington's  friendship  for  La 
fayette  also  led  him  to  write  him  a  note  of  explana 
tion. 

That  sultry  Saturday  night  was  one  of  deep 
anxiety  to  both  parties.  The  British  general  was 
encumbered  with  an  enormous  amount  of  baggage. 
Washington  was  about  to  assail  the  disciplined 
troops,  whom  Lee  said  it  was  madness  to  attack  in 
their  present  force  and  strong  position. 

None  who  were  burdened  with  responsibility  slept, 
and  even  Saville,  though  very  weary,  was  kept  awake 
by  the  thought,  that  in  a  very  few  hours  he  might 
enter  on  the  dreamless  sleep  which  his  love  now 
made  him  dread  unspeakably ;  and  that,  should  des 
perate  wounds  leave  him  helpless  on  the  field,  Vera 
was  too  far  away  to  seek  him  again. 

At  midnight  there  was  a  stir  and  the  heavy  tread 
of  men.  Washington,  who  has  been  characterized 
as  over-cautious,  was  so  resolutely  bent  on  fighting 
Clinton,  that  he  had  sent  orders  for  a  large  detach 
ment  to  move  up  close  to  the  enemy's  lines,  and  to 
hold  the  British  general  in  check,  should  he  attempt 
to  decamp  in  the  darkness. 

At  daylight,  expresses  galloped  to  Lee  and  to 
Washington  with  the  tidings  that  the  enemy  were 
moving.  The  chief  put  the  main  army  into  motion 
instantly,  and  gave  orders  that  the  men  should 
throw  aside  blankets  and  every  impeding  weight. 


A   MASTER  MIND  AND    WILL.  403 

Lee  remained  inert  until  positive  orders  spurred 
him  into  action.  He  then  advanced,  it  is  true,  but 
languidly,  very  cautiously,  without  definite  pur 
pose,  and  without  concert  with  his  supporting  gen 
erals. 

By  his  direction,  General  Wayne  gained  a  position 
where  he  was  certain  he  could  deal  the  enemy  a 
tremendous  blow ;  but  was  checked  in  the  very  act 
of  striking,  that  Lee  himself  might  carry  out  a  bril 
liant  piece  of  strategy,  which  ended,  however,  in  a 
feeble  and  purposeless  demonstration. 

Lafayette  saw  an  opportunity  to  gain  the  rear  of 
a  body  of  the  enemy  marching  against  them,  and 
spurred  to  Lee,  that  he  might  obtain  permission  to 
make  the  attempt. 

"  Sir,"  was  the  reply,  "  you  do  not  know  British 
soldiers ;  we  cannot  stand  against  them  ;  we  shall 
certainly  be  driven  back  at  first,  and  we  must  be 
cautious." 

"  It  may  be  so,  General,"  Lafayette  replied ; 
"  but  British  soldiers  have  been  beaten,  and  they 
may  be  again  ;  at  any  rate,  I  am  disposed  to  make 
the  trial." 

Lee  then  gave  Lafayette  permission  to  cany 
out  his  plan  in  part.  A  little  later,  one  of  Washing 
ton's  aids  arrived  upon  the  field  in  quest  of  infor 
mation,  and  the  marquis  sent  back  emphatic  word  to 
his  chief  that  his  presence  was  needed. 

Before  the  halfway  measure  which  Lee  proposed 
could  be  carried  out,  the  permission  was  recalled, 
and  the  gallant  Frenchman  was  ordered  to  fall  back, 
though  why  he  could  not  tell.  He  chafed  like  a 


404 


NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 


chained  lion,  and  now  felt  that  the  man  whom  he 
must  obey  was  either  a  traitor  or  a  coward. 

Saville  was  deeply  chagrined ;  for  Lee,  from  his 
outspoken  skepticism  and  innovating  tendencies, 
was  one  of  his  heroes. 

This  hesitation,  this  marching  and  countermarch 
ing,  and  cautious  feeling  around,  gave  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  just  the  time  he  needed.  His  immense  train 
of  baggage  was  well  out  of  the  way,  guarded  by  a 
strong  force  under  General  Knyphausen,  so  he  now 
decidedly  took  the  initiative,  by  hurling  the  bulk  of 
his  army,  under  Lord  Cornwallis,  against  the  dila 
tory  Americans,  who  had  been  wasting  their  time 
and  strength  in  purposeless  skirmishing. 

The  whole  advance  guard  of  the  army  under  Lee 
was  soon  falling  back,  some  with  orders  and  some 
without,  and  it  was  not  long  before  the  retrograde 
movement  developed  into  a  disgraceful  retreat.  As 
the  enemy  pressed  faster  and  nearer,  panic  seized 
upon  the  Continental  forces,  and  all  the  awful  con 
sequences  followed  inevitably.  The  day  was  in 
tensely  hot,  and  the  unclouded  sun  smote  many  a 
poor  fellow  to  the  earth  in  surer  death  than  the 
thickly-flying  bullets.  The  already  wearied  men 
sank  ankle-deep  into  the  yielding  sand,  and  those 
who,  through  feebleness,  wounds,  or  fatigue,  fell  in 
the  way,  were  trampled  by  the  strong  in  their  reck 
less  flight. 

And  yet  Washington  knew  nothing  of  all  this. 
There  had  been  no  indications  of  heavy  fighting  in 
his  front.  To  all  the  wretched  blunders  of  that 
morning,  Lee  added  the  most  unpardonable,  when  he 


A   MASTER  MIND  AND    WILL.  405 

failed  to  inform  his  chief  that  he  was  falling  back ; 
for  he  thereby  endangered  the  entire  army. 

The  first  intimation  that  Washington  received  of 
what  had  occurred  was  the  appearance  of  breath 
less,  terror-stricken  fugitives.  With  rare  presence 
of  mind,  he  ordered  them  under  arrest,  lest  they 
should  communicate  their  tidings  to  the  main  body 
of  the  army,  which  was  advancing  to  Lee's  support  ; 
for  there  is  no  contagion  so  mysterious  and  awfully 
rapid  in  its  transmission  as  that  of  a  panic. 

Still  hoping  that  the  report  was  unfounded,  he 
sprang  upon  his  horse,  and  spurred  toward  the  front ; 
but  the  increasing  stream  of  fugitives,  and  then  the 
heads  of  the  retreating  columns,  soon  convinced 
him  that  the  disaster  which  he  believed  impossible 
had  taken  place.  He  asked  several  officers  in  the 
retreating  column  what  it  all  meant.  No  one  knew. 
One  smiled  significantly,  another  was  angry,  while  a 
third  declared,  with  an  oath,  that  "  they  were  flying 
from  a  shadow." 

Washington  was  ever  slow  to  suspect  others  of 
evil,  but  the  thought  now  flashed  into  his  mind  that 
Lee  was  making  good  his  predictions  of  defeat,  by 
his  own  cowardly  or  treacherous  action.  He  stopped 
tD  ask  no  more  questions,  but,  ordering  the  com 
mander  of  the  first  division  to  form  his  men  on  the 
first  rising  ground,  he,  with  his  staff,  swept  across 
the  causeway,  past  the  disorderly  fugitives,  his  anger 
kindling  as  he  rode.  The  frown  upon  his  brow  grew 
black  as  night,  and  by  the  time  he  reached  Lee,  who 
was  leading  the  retreat  of  the  second  division,  his 
appearance  was  terrible.  Saville,  who  rode  near,  with 


406 


NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   PIE  ART. 


Lafayette,  was  deeply  awed,  and,  were  not  the  proof 
before  him,  could  not  have  believed  that  a  human 
face  could  become  so  powerful  in  its  indignation. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this,  sir  ?  "  Wash 
ington  demanded,  in  a  tone  that  was  stern  even  to 
fierceness. 

"  Sir — sir,"  stammered  Lee,  at  first  overwhelmed 
by  Washington's  manner. 

"  I  desire  to  know  the  meaning  of  this  disorder 
and  confusion,"  was  again  demanded,  and  with  still 
greater  vehemence. 

"  You  know  that  the  attack  was  contrary  to  my 
advice  and  opinion — "  Lee  began. 

*."  You  should  not  have  undertaken  the  command, 
unless  you  intended  to  carry  it  through." 

Lee's  irascible  spirit  was  now  stung  to  rage,  and 
he  made  an  angry  reply,  which  drew  from  Washing 
ton  still  sharper  expressions.  For  a  moment,  the 
incensed  generals  confronted  each  other,  like  two 
thunde-rclouds  that  are  flashing  their  lightnings 
back  and  forth,  as  if  within  the  dark  folds  of  each 
there  was  a  vindictive  will. 

Lee  sought  to  give  a  hurried  explanation,  which 
ended  with  the  assertion  that  the  ground  was  un 
favorable,  and  that  he  was  not  disposed  to  beard  the 
whole  British  army  with  troops  in  such  a  situa 
tion. 

"  I  have  certain  information,"  rejoined  Washing 
ton,  "  that  it  was  merely  a  strong  covering  party." 

"  That  may  be ;  but  it  was  stronger  than  mine, 
and  I  did  not  think  proper  to  run  such  a  risk." 

"I   am   very  sorry,"  was   the   reply,   "  that   you 


A   MASTER  MIND  AND    WILL. 


407 


undertook  the  command,  unless  you  meant  to  fight 
the  enemy." 

"  I  did  not  think  it  prudent  to  bring  on  a  general 
engagement." 

"  Whatever  your  opinion  may  have  been,"  an 
swered  Washington  disdainfully,  "  I  expected  my 
orders  would  have  been  obeyed." 

All  this  had  passed  with  inconceivable  rapidity, 
and,  as  it  were,  in  flashes,  and  yet  too  much  time 
had  been  wasted,  for  the  enemy  were  but  a  few 
minutes'  march  away  from  them.  Casting  Lee  aside, 
as  he  might  a  broken  reed,  Washington  ordered  that 
the  head  of  the  second  division,  instead  of  continu 
ing  its  retreat,  should  form  instantly  in  line  of  battle. 
Then,  wheeling  his  horse,  he  dashed  to  the  rear  of 
the  American  column,  and  toward  the  advancing 
enemy,  who  were  now  close  upon  the  confused  and 
disordered  remnant  of  Lee's  troops. 

Until  Washington  appeared,  the  poor  fellows  were 
in  sore  straits.  Their  retreat  had  been  checked  ; 
they  were  standing  helplessly  in  the  road,  artillery 
and  infantry  huddled  together.  No  one  knew  what 
to  do,  or  how  the  miserable  blundering  of  the  day 
would  end.  Only  one  thing  was  definite  and  cer 
tain — the  solid  columns  of  their  pursuers  were 
now  almost  upon  them.  They  were  on  the  eve 
of  headlong  and  disastrous  flight,  when  Washing 
ton,  with  his  staff,  galloped  up,  and  his  presence 
and  inspiring  mien  sent  an  electric  thrill  of  hope 
and  courage  to  every  fainting  heart.  The  great 
master  mind,  aroused  to  its  highest  degree  of  power> 
seemed  to  lay  a  resistless  grasp  upon  the  whole 


408  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

chaotic  mass.  It  appeared  but  a  moment  before 
Colonel  Oswald's  guns  were  posted  on  a  neighboring 
eminence,  were  unlimbered,  and  were  pouring  well- 
directed  shots  into  the  advancing  foe.  Two  other 
batteries  galloped  off  to  the  left,  and  taking  position 
in  the  covert  of  woods,  were  soon  adding  their  tre 
mendous  echoes  to  the  deepening  uproar  of  battle. 
In  the  mean  time,  and  under  a  perfect  storm  of  bul 
lets  and  cannon  balls,  the  intrepid  chief  formed  the 
regiments  of  Colonels  Stewart  and  Ramsay  in  line, 
and  enabled  them  to  reply  to  the  destructive  volleys 
they  were  receiving.  He  seemed  to  bear  the  same 
charmed  life  that  had  excited  the  superstitious  won 
der  of  the  savages  on  Braddock's  disastrous  field  in 
the  old  French  and  Indian  war.  Within  a  space  of 
time  so  brief  as  to  appear  incredible,  he  had  rallied 
into  battle  array  fugitives  that,  a  few  moments 
before,  were  bent  only  on  flight,  and  the  impetuous 
advance  of  the  enemy  was  checked. 

Having  made  all  the  arrangements  within  his 
power,  this  born  commander  of  men  did  a  still 
greater  thing :  he  controlled  himself.  Riding  back 
to  Lee,  in  calmer  mood,  he  asked, 

"  Will  you  retain  the  command  on  this  height  or 
not  ?  If  you  will,  I  will  return  to  the  main  body,  and 
have  it  formed  on  the  next  height." 

"  It  is  equal  to  me  where  I  command,"  replied 
Lee. 

"  I  expect  you  will  take  proper  means  for  checking 
the  enemy,"  said  Washington. 

11  Your  orders  shall  be  obeyed ;  and  I  shall  not  be 
the  first  to  leave  the  ground." 


A   MASTER  MIND  AND    WILL. 


409 


Availing  himself  of  the  respite  which  his  own 
masterly  action  had  secured,  Washington  spurred 
back  to  the  main  army,  which,  under  his  rapid  orders, 
soon  bristled  along  the  next  height. 

But  he  had  left  something  of  his  own  iron  will 
among  those  who  were  now  sustaining  the  en'emy's 
attack.  His  clarion  voice,  which  had  resounded 
above  the  din,  was  still  echoing  in  their  hearts,  and 
the  grand  excitement  which  had  animated  his  face 
made  a  hero  of  every  soldier  in  the  little  force  which 
the  enemy's  bullets  were  fast  thinning. 

They  maintained  their  position  gallantly  for  some 
little  time,  and  when,  at  last,  the  left  wing  gave  way, 
pushed  back  by  the  weight  of  numbers,  and  emerged 
on  the  further  side  of  the  woods  toward  Washing 
ton,  both  of  the  contending  parties  seemed  inter 
mingled  in  a  hand-to-hand  mgtie. 

The  enemy  next  attacked  Varnum's  brigade, 
posted  near  the  causeway,  across  which  the  Ameri 
cans  must  retreat,  and  here  the  conflict  raged  se 
verely  for  some  time. 

As  Saville  was  carrying  an  order  across  the  field 
to  a  battery  that  was  doing  effective  service,  he  was 
hailed  by  a  familiar  voice,  and  turning,  saw  his  old 
acquaintance,  Captain  Molly,  coming  toward  him 
with  a  bucket  of  water. 

"  The  Holy  Vargin  bless  ye,  Misther  Saville  ! "  she 
cried.  "  I  fale  safe,  now  I  know  that  ye're  around." 

"  Ah,  Molly,  my  brave  girl !  is  that  you  ? "  he 
replied.  "  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Faix,   sur,  while  Larry  is  givin'  the   Red-coats 
fire,  I'm  givin'  him  wather." 
18 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

"  Can  you  spare  me  a  drop?  for  I'm  half  perished 
with  thirst  in  this  infernal  heat  and  dust." 

"  Take  all  ye  want,  and  welcome.  What  are  a 
few  dhraps  of  wather,  when  ye  spilt  yer  blood  for 
me?" 

"  Molly,  you  are  a  jewel !  What  did  you  do  for 
me?  Larry  may  well  be  proud  of  you." 

"  Och  !  poor  man  !     I'm  better  to  him  now " 

A  cannon  ball  was  whizzing  toward  them  ;  a 
second  later,  Larry  was  a  bleeding  corpse  beside  his 
gun. 

Molly  saw  him  fall  as  she  turned.  With  a  wild 
shriek  she  dropped  her  pail,  rushed  to  his  side,  and 
throwing  herself  upon  his  mangled  form,  gave  utter 
ance  to  loud  cries  of  grief. 

The  officer  in  charge  of  the  battery  was  about  to 
withdraw  the  gun,  as  he  now  had  no  one  competent 
to  work  it ;  but  Molly,  obeying  another  impulse, 
sprang  up,  and  dashing  her  tears  right  and  left,  cried, 
"  No,  yer  honor  !  I'll  take  Larry's  place,  and  it'll 
do  me  sore  heart  good  to  send  some  o'  thim  Red 
coats,  as  killed  him,  to  the  divil ;  "  and  she  seized  the 
rammer,  and  proved  instantly  that  she  had  nerve 
and  skill  for  the  task.  With  her  dark,  piercing  eyes 
ablaze  with  anger,  and  her  disheveled  hair  flying 
about  her  inflamed  face,  she  seemed  a  fury  rather 
than  a  woman.  When  Saville  left,  the  rapid  dis 
charges  of  the  gun  told  how  eagerly  she  was  seeking 
to  avenge  the  death  of  her  husband. 

The  British  cavalry,  and  a  heavy  body  of  infantry 
at  last  charged  simultaneously,  and  broke  the  Amer 
ican  ranks.  Lee  ordered  instant  retreat,  and,  with 


A   MASTER  MIND  AND    WILL. 


411 


Colonel  Ogden's  regiment,  covered  the  passage  of 
his  men  across  the  causeway. 

Molly  would  not  leave  her  husband's  body,  but 
lifting  it  on  the  gun,  she  tied  it  there,  and  then,  by 
running,  kept  near  to  the  retiring  battery,  the  troops 
greeting  her  with  acclamations  as  she  passed. 

The  British  forces  promptly  followed  the  hard- 
pressed  Continentals  over  the  causeway,  anticipating 
a  complete  victory,  and  the  battle  speedily  became 
general.  But  Washington  was  now  upon  his  own 
ground,  and  supported  by  generals  in  whom  he 
could  trust  implicitly.  The  enemy  made  successive 
attacks  on  his  front,  left  and  right,  but  were  repelled. 
A  tremendous  cannonade  was  kept  up  on  both  sides, 
and  seldom  had  the  peace  of  the  Sabbath  been  so 
rudely  disturbed  as  on  that  sultry  summer  day. 

General  Wayne,  whose  headlong  valor  had  justly 
earned  him  the  sobriquet  of  "  Mad  Anthony,"  oc 
cupied  an  advanced  position  in  an  orchard,  from 
which  he  maintained  a  brisk  and  galling  fire  on  the 
British  center.  He  repeatedly  repulsed  the  Royal 
Grenadiers,  who  sought  to  dislodge  him.  It  soon 
began  to  appear  that  the  success  of  the  enemy's 
attack  depended  on  driving  him  from  his  position. 

Saville  was  directed  by  Lafayette  to  ride  over 
to  Wayne  with  a  cheering  message,  to  watch  the 
struggle,  and  report  to  him  its  progress. 

When  Saville  reached  Wayne's  advanced  post, 
Colonel  Moncton,  who  commanded  the  Royal  Gren 
adiers,  was  deploying  them  in  the  open  field,  as 
for  a  quiet  evening  parade.  It  was  evident  that  he 
was  preparing  for  the  stern  and  silent  use  of  the 


4I2.  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

bayonet,  on  which  the  British  troops  justly  prided 
themselves. 

When  his  men  were  in  line,  he  made  them  a  brief, 
stirring  address,  in  which  he  appealed  to  every 
motive  which  could  inspire  an  English  soldier  with 
unflinching  courage.  His  voice  was  distinctly  heard 
by  those  awaiting  the  assault,  and  at  times  even 
his  words  were  intelligible.  He  next  placed  him 
self  at  their  head,  and  led  them  in  solid  column 
against  the  Americans.  They  presented  a  truly 
magnificent  sight  in  the  warm,  mellow  light  of  the 
declining  day.  With  the  same  firmness  and  steadi 
ness  that  they  would  pass  in  review  on  some  gala 
occasion,  the  poor  fellows  advanced  toward  the 
point  where  very  many  would  meet  wounds  and 
death.  So  even  and  perfect  was  their  step,  as  they 
marched  shoulder  to  shoulder,  that  a  cannon  ball 
from  an  American  battery  enfiladed  a  whole  pla 
toon,  knocking  the  muskets  out  of  each  man's  hand  ; 
but,  with  scarce  a  change  in  muscle,  the  obscure 
heroes  strode  on  with  their  comrades,  although 
unarmed.  Moncton  walked  at  their  head,  erect, 
stately,  resolute, .and  his  bearing  was  emulated  by 
every  officer  in  the  column.  Their  silent  progress 
was  more  impressive  than  if  every  step  was  accom 
panied  by  shouts  and  volleys.  Their  march  was 
the  very  sublimity  of  courage,  the  perfect  flower  of 
discipline,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  must  be  resistless. 

They  are  now  within  a  few  rods  of  their  equally 
silent,  waiting  foe ;  and  yet  there  is  no  hesitation, 
no  change  in  the  time  of  their  strong,  steady  tramp. 
They  are  now  so  near  tKat  the  opposing  ranks  can 


A   MASTER  MIND  AND    WILL. 

look  into  each  other's  begrimed  and  heat-swollen 
faces.  The  same  stern  resolve  characterizes  the 
countenances  of  each  dark  array.  To  distant  spec 
tators  the  two  clouds  of  war  seem  almost  together; 
the  lightning  flashes  must  come  soon. 

The  American  firelocks  are  leveled,  not  evenly, 
covering  the  whole  advancing  column,  but  concen 
trating  on  every  officer  visible.  They  are  but  a  few 
yards  away.  Suddenly  Moncton  steps  to  the  right, 
waves  his  sword  aloft,  and  shouts, 

"Charge!" 

Wayne's  signal  is  equally  prompt.  A  volley  from 
the  whole  length  of  his  line  rings  out ;  then,  lower 
ing  their  empty  pieces,  his  men  rush  forward  to 
meet  the  coming  shock  with  answering  bayonet- 
thrust. 

Moncton  fell,  and  also  almost  every  other  British 
officer;  but  his  heroic  column,  stunned  but  for  a  mo 
ment,  pressed  on,  and  there  was  at  once  a  desperate 
hand-to-hand  conflict  over  the  prostrate  commander, 
one  party  seeking  to  retain,  and  the  other  to  obtain 
his  body.  At  last  the  Continentals  secured  the  life 
less  form  of  the  gallant  colonel,  and  carried  it  to 
the  rear. 

If  the  English  courage  was  steady  and  unflinch 
ing,  that  of  the  Americans  was  reckless  and  enthu 
siastic.  Gradually  they  pushed  back  the  struggling 
and  almost  unofficered  grenadiers,  until,  convinced 
that  their  assault  had  failed,  they  gave  way.  This 
practically  decided  the  fate  of  the  day.  The  sun 
was  setting,  and  the  British  forces  soon  retired  to 
the  height  whereon  Washington  had  rallied  Lee's 


414 


NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


disordered  troops  in  the  morning.  Throughout  the 
long  twilight,  something  of  the  Sabbath's  stillness 
settled  down  on  a  region  that  had,  throughout  the 
day,  resounded  with  the  horrid  din  of  war.  The 
battle-field,  and  the  whole  line  of  Lee's  disastrous 
retreat,  presented  one  strange  feature.  There  were 
wounded  and  mangled  bodies  in  abundance,  but 
everywhere  were  found  men  dead  or  helpless,  with 
out  a  scratch  upon  their  persons.  The  torrid  sun 
had  smote  both  parties  as  with  the  wrath  of  heaven. 

Washington  and  his  suite  lay  down  under  a  broad 
oak,  with  the  dead  all  around  them,  intending  to 
renew  the  conflict  with  the  light  of  the  following 
morning ;  but,  while  the  Americans,  from  the  fa 
tigues  of  the  day,  were  sunk  in  oblivion  almost  as 
deep  as  that  of  those  whom  the  morning  reveille 
could  not  awaken,  Clinton  stole  away  with  his  baf 
fled  army,  leaving  his  severely  wounded  to  the  mercy 
of  his  foes.  When,  at  daybreak,  the  advance  was 
sounded,  the  Americans  found  only  the  deserted 
campaign  ground. 

It  was  a  drawn  battle ;  but,  if  Lafayette  had  com 
manded  the  advance  instead  of  Lee.  and  had  Mor 
gan,  with  his  brave  riflemen — who,  but  three  miles 
distant,  chafed  all  day  without  orders — attacked  the 
enemy's  rear,  history  might  have  given  a  different 
record. 


THE  REVELATION  415 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  REVELATION. 

SAVILLE  was  naturally  brave,  but  no  man  ever 
had  a  greater  sense  of  gladness  than  he  at  hav 
ing  passed  unscathed  through  the  manifold  perils  of 
the  day.  Though  weaned  to  the  point  of  exhaus 
tion,  at  the  close  of  the  battle,  he  sought  Molly,  as 
soon  as  his  duties  permitted,  and  tried  to  comfort 
the  poor  creature.  He  found  her  crooning  and 
wailing  by  turns,  at  the  side  of  her  husband's  body. 

"  Ah!  Misther  Saville,"  she  said,  "  it's  now  I  think 
on  ivery  oncivil  word  iver  I  spake  to  him.  If  I 
could  only  have  him  aloive  once  more,  I'd  be  swater 
than  honey  all  the  toime.  Faix,  sur,  Larry  was  a 
kind,  dacent  man,  an'  I'll  niver  git  his  loikes  agin." 

The  story  of  Molly's  action  on  the  death  of  her 
husband  had  spread  like  wildfire  through  the  army, 
and  on  the  following  morning  General  Greene  pre 
sented  her,  all  begrimed  with  powder  and  blood, 
to  Washington,  who,  with  words  of  praise  and  sym 
pathy,  conferred  on  her  the  commission  of  sergeant; 
while  he  afterward  caused  her  name  to  be  placed 
upon  the  list  of  half-pay  officers  for  life. 

Saville  saw  that  Larry  had  a  soldier's  burial,  and 


416  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

then  gave  Molly  the  means  of  defraying  her  ex 
penses  back  to  her  home  in  the  Highlands,  to  which 
she  soon  returned.  Immediately  after  her  arrival 
thither,  she  went  out  to  see  Vera,  to  whom  she  re 
lated,  with  all  the  vividness  of  her  demonstrative 
style,  the  events  of  the  battle,  enlarging  upon  her 
own  loss,  the  dangers  to  which  Saville  had  been  ex 
posed,  and  his  kindness  to  her. 

Her  tidings,  while  in  part  reassuring,  threw  Vera 
into  an  agony  of  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  her  lover. 
Now, "in  his  absence,  she  realized,  as  never  before, 
how  necessary  he  was  to  her  very  existence;  and 
again,  with  her  old  importunity,  she  besought 
Heaven  in  his  behalf,  though  not  with  her  old  and 
simple  faith ;  and  she  watched  for  his  return  with 
almost  sleepless  vigilance. 

In  the  mean  time,  Saville,  finding  that  there  was 
no  further  prospect  of  fighting,  proceeded  on  his 
journey  to  Philadelphia,  and,  after  attending  to  his 
official  business,  purchased  a  beautiful  ring  for  Vera. 
Returning,  he  taxed  his  poor  horse  heavily,  in  his 
impatience  to  see  again  the  one  who  grew  dearer 
every  day.  The  dangers  he  had  passed  through,  and 
the  uncertainty  of  life  in  that  stormy  period,  made 
him  feel  that  he  could  delay  the  consummation  of 
his  love  no  longer,  and  he  half  resolved  to  put  his 
hopes  to  the  test  on  his  return.  By  rapid  riding,  he 
gained  sufficient  time  to  enable  him  to  spend  a  day 
or  two  at  the  cabin,  and  still  report  as  early  as  he 
was  expected. 

When  he  met  Vera,  he  found  that  the  knowledge 
of  what  he  had  passed  through  had  preceded  him. 


THE  REVELATION.  417 

Never  before  had  her  reception  been  so  marked  by 
a  clinging  tenderness,  and  he  thought  exultantly, 
"  She  cannot  give  me  up."  But  she  soon  clouded 
his  face  and  hopes  by  saying, 

"  O  Theron  !  God  does  answer  prayer.  It  seems 
to  me  that  I  have  entreated  Him  in  your  behalf  even 
in  my  troubled  dreams,  as  well  as  in  every  waking 
moment,"  and  He  has  spared  you  to  me." 

"  Is  her  faith  still  so  unshaken  in  a  mere  name  ?  " 
he  sadly  asked  himself.  "  Will  it  ever  be  otherwise  ?  " 

After  an  early  supper,  he  led  her  out  to  one  of 
their  favorite  haunts  upon  the  hill-side,  and  gave  her 
the  ring  he  had  brought.  He  was  pleased  to  see  her 
unbounded  delight  and  gratitude,  and  he  said, 

"  When  you  no  longer  wish  my  love,  you  may 
return  this  ring  to  me." 

"  You  will  never  receive  it  again,"  she  answered, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  "  for  if  I  were  dying,  Theron, 
I  could  not  give  it  back  on  that  condition." 

It  proved  a  little  too  large,  but  she  obviated  this 
defect  by  drawing  off  the  ring  given  by  her  mother, 
and  then,  putting  Saville's  gift  in  its  place,  she  kept 
it  there  by  the  plain  gold  band  which  she  had  worn 
so  long. 

"  That  is  the  way  it  should  be,"  she  said  ;  "  for  I 
have  felt  from  the  first  that  I  had  mother's  approval 
of  my  love."  Then  she  added  musingly,  "  How  well 
I  remember  her  words  when  she  gave  me  this  ring  I  " 

"  What  were  they,  Vera?  " 

She  blushed  deeply,  for  she  had  spoken  half  un 
consciously,  not  realizing  the  nature  of  the  explana 
tion  that  must  follow. 
18* 


418 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  PIE  ART . 


"  Tell  me  her  words,"  Saville  again  gently  asked. 

"  They  remind  me  that  I  have,  in  part,  disobeyed 
them,  Theron  ;  but  I  trusted  you  so  completely,  and 
all  has  happened  so  strangely  and  differently  from 
what  any  one  could  have  anticipated,  that  I  could 
not  do  otherwise." 

His  curiosity  and  hope  were  now  both  aroused. 
Was  the  way  opening  for  explanations  that,  in  any 
event,  must  soon  come?  So  he  said, 

"  I  know  you  have  acted  right,  darling.  Were 
your  mother  living,  she  could  have  found  no  fault ; 
but  what  did  she  say  when  she  gave  the  ring?" 

"  I  cannot  hide  anything  from  you,  Theron, "  she 
said,  turning  away  her  face.  "  You  must  remember 
the  circumstances.  Mother  was  leaving  me  alone 
and  friendless.  She-  feared  I  would  be  peculiarly 
unshielded.  I  would  have  been  but  for  you.  Think 
of  what  I  passed  through  in  your  long  year  of  ab 
sence  !  think  of  the  condition  in  which  you  found 
me !  O  Theron  !  how  much  I  owe  to  you.  Well, 
mother  evidently  feared  I  might  meet  with  some  one 
not  so  honorable  as  you  are,  and  she  made  me  prom 
ise  that  I  would  not  permit  caresses,  even  from  one 
I  loved,  until  he  should  wed  me  before  God's  minis 
ter  with  this  ring.  I  readily  gave  the  promise,  for  I 
did  not  then  know  what  love  was.  But  I  could  not 
keep  it.  When  you  raised  me  jrom  the  floor,  the 
night  father  spoke  those  dreadful  words,  I  knew  I 
could  trust  you.  I  turned  to  you  as  instinctively  as 
that  climbing  vine  to  yonder  oak.  I  could  not  help 
it,  and  I  knew  that  all  would  be  as  mother  wished 
in  your  own  good  time." 


THE  REVELATION.  419 

As  she  spoke  he  grew  very  pale,  and,  at  her  last 
words,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  with  a  deep  groan. 
It  seemed,  for  the  moment,  as  if  the  dead  mother 
stood  between  him  and  her  child. 

"  Theron  !  "  she  said  in  great  alarm. 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  Theron,  are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  sick  at  heart ;  my  evil  destiny  will  con 
quer  yet." 

"  O  Theron !  "  she  pleaded,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder ;  <{  tell  me  your  trouble.  You  need 
dread  no  evil  that  I  can  avert." 

"  If  that  were  only  true,"  he  answered,  looking  at 
her  with  a  face  so  full  of  trouble  that  her  tears 
started  in  sympathy. 

"  How  can  it  be  otherwise  than  true?  "  she  asked, 
beginning  to  dread,  she  knew  not  what.  "  Can  you 
think  me  so  ungrateful  that  I  will  not  make  any 
sacrifice  for  you?" 

"  You  will  never  be  ungrateful,  Vera,  and  you 
have  had,  thus  far,  no  more  cause  for  gratitude  than 
I  have  ;  but  I  fear  you  cannot — mark,  I  do  not  say 
will  not — I  fear  you  cannot  give  up  your  supersti 
tion — your  faith  in  what  I  am  sure  is  all  delusion — 
for  my  sake ;  and  yet  you  must,  or  else  the  chance 
for  a  happiness  greater  than  I  thought  possible  passes 
away  from  both." 

"  Theron,  your  words  are  as  dark  as  night.  What 
can  you  mean  ?  Why  are  you  so  pale  ?  "  cried  Vera 
in  great  distress. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment,  u  what  I  have  been  on  the  point  of  telling 


420 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


you  before  ;  but  I  hesitated,  as  much  for  your  sake 
as  my  own.  I  could  no  more  endure  the  thought  of 
your  losing  this  happy  future  than  of  losing  it  my 
self;  and  I  hoped  that  in  time,  and  under  greater 
enlightenment  of  mind,  you  would  outgrow  the 
imaginary  obstacles  in  the  way.  I  too  have  broken 
the  letter  of  a  promise  that  I  made  you  at  your 
mother's  grave.  I  said,  in  effect,  that  I  would  not 
try  to  lead  you  to  forget  or  depart  from  her  teach 
ings  ;  nor  would  I,  save  in  one  respect,  for  her  in 
fluence  and  that  of  nature  have  made  you  the 
sweetest,  purest  woman  that  ever  breathed.  But  I 
could  not  be  loyal  to  you  and  to  your  happiness  and 
still  keep  that  hasty  pledge,  for  since  that  day  our 
mutual  love  has  grown  till  it  absorbs  us  both,  and  in 
the  wretched  past  an  event  occurred  which  would 
render  the  consummation  of  our  love  impossible, 
did  I  leave  your  baseless  faith  undisturbed.  While 
it  comforted  you  after  your  mother's  death,  I  kept 
the  promise.  When,  ere  we  were  aware,  we  both 
began  to  love  each  other  in  such  a  way  that  the 
terms  brother  and  sister  no  longer  meant  the  truth  ; 
when  your  father's  words  taught  me  that  this  wilder 
ness  must  continue  to  be  your  home,  and  that  the 
position  in  society,  which  I  that  day  had  resolved  you 
should  have,  became  impossible,  then  I  commenced 
trying  to  teach  you  what  I  firmly  believe  myself.  I 
could  sacrifice  my  own  happiness  ;  I  had  decided  to 
do  so,  and  your  quick  intuition  read  my  decision  in 
my  face.  And  yet  how  glad  I  was  that  I  saw,  as  I 
believed,  a  way  in  which  we  both  could  be  happy  by 
becoming  one  for  life !  I  then  tried  to  undermine 


THE  REVELATION.  421 

your  delusion  ;  I  sought  to  do  it  gently,  that  youf 
old  beliefs  might  pass  away  as  clouds  from  the  sky." 

Just  then,  in  ominous  contradiction  of  his  words, 
the  setting  sun  entered  a  dark  cloud,  and  the  gloom 
fell  on  the  faces  of  both. 

"  Vera,  before  I  saw  you  I  thought  I  had  spoiled 
my  life  ;  not  by  a  crime,  but  by  an  act  of  folly.  It 
is  for  you  to  decide  whether  my  life  is  to  be  blighted 
by  its  consequences  ;  for  your  sake — not  my  own  ;  my 
pure,  strong  love  needs  no  priestly  sanction — for 
your  sake,  it  cuts  me  to  the  heart  to  say  it.  I  cannot, 
in  truth,  take  you  before  a  minister  and  wed  you, 
with  that  ring.  While  my  heart  is  free  to  love  you,  in 
the  eye  of  our  barbarous  laws  I  am  a  married  man." 

She  started  violently  and  became  deathly  pale,  but 
she  only  moaned, 

"  O  Theron,  Theron !  I  should  have  known  this 
before." 

"  Hear  me,  hear  the  whole  wretched  story,  before 
you  condemn  me  !  "  he  cried  passionately.  "  I  could 
have  brought  a  minister  hither,  and  it  might  have 
been  years  before  you  learned  the  truth,  if  ever  ;  but 
no  deceit  shall  ever  sully  my  relations  to  you.  When 
we  were  first  acquainted,  I  did  not  tell  you  of  my 
wife,  because  I  never  spoke  of  her  to  any  one,  not 
even  to  my  mother.  I  was  seeking  to  forget  her 
hateful  existence.  When  your  father's  words  and 
your  decision  to  remain  with  him  prevented  me 
from  carrying  out  my  self-sacrificing  plan,  then  the 
thought  came  :  Teach  her  the  truth,  show  her  how 
valueless  are  the  forms  and  ceremonies  which  are 
based  on  falsehood." 


422 


NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


"But  they  are  right  and  true  to  me,"  said  Veia 
sobbing. 

"  They  cannot  continue  to  be  so,  darling,  after 
you  have  calmly  considered  the  proof  to  the  con 
trary  ;  and  when  you  come  to  know  how  cruelly  I 
am  placed,  how  utterly  I  am  absolved  from  every 
bond  save  that  which  is  purely  legal,  you  will  have 
pity ;  you  will  see  that  I  have  a  right  to  seek  your 
love  ;  "  and  he  told  her  the  whole  story  of  his  mar 
riage,  softening  no  part  that  was  to  his  own  dis 
advantage  ;  he  spoke  with  intense  bitterness  of  his 
wife's  recent  and  shameful  marriage  at  the  very  time 
when  he  owed  his  life  to  Vera's  tireless  care ;  "  and 
this  marriage,"  he  said,  "  was  solemnized  with  all 
the  forms  that  are  called  sacred." 

"  And  now,  Vera,"  he  concluded,  "  how  could  I 
have  acted  otherwise  ?  I  believe  that  this  life  is  all. 
It  is  all,"  he  said  earnestly  ;  "  everything  in  nature 
proves  it.  We  have  before  us  but  this  brief  life. 
Alas  !  in  my  calling,  how  uncertain  it  is  !  Since  our 
short  day  must  pass  swiftly  at  best,  shall  we  waste 
our  waking  moments  over  delusions  ?  Shall  we  let 
what  men  imagined  in  the  ignorant  past  stand  in 
the  way  of  real  and  practical  happiness?  Only  ob 
stacles  created  by  the  untaught  minds  of  the  super 
stitious  are  standing  in  our  way.  Shall  these  un 
substantial  spectres  frighten  us  from  a  lifetime  of 
deep  content  ?  In  a  little  while  we  shall  cease  to 
be,  and  the  chance  for  happiness  is  gone." 

But  Vera  drew  another  inference  than  that  which 
he  intended,  and  in  a  tone  that  pierced  his  heart  she 
cried, 


THE  REVELATION.  423 

"  Then  where  is  mother  ?  " 

He  was  silent,  for  her  distress  was  so  great  that  it 
seemed  a  cruel  thing  to  say  that  all  that  remained 
of  one  so  dear  was  corrupting  in  a  distant  grave. 
He  never  realized  before  how  harsh  and  abrupt  an 
end  his  creed  gave  to  human  life.  He  tried  to  com 
fort  himself  with  the  thought  that  her  intense  grief 
would  gradually  pass  away,  and  that  realizing  that 
she  had  in  sad  truth  lost  her  mother,  she  would  'cling 
all  the  more  closely  to  him  as  her  only  certain  pos 
session. 

He  endeavored  to  soothe  her,  but  for  a  long  time 
his  efforts  seemed  utterly  vain.  At  last  she  grew 
calm  enough  to  falter, 

"  I  am  in  the  dark,  Theron.  It  seems  as  if  the 
mountain  had  opened  at  my  feet.  I  dare  not  move 
lest  I  fall  into  the  gulf.  I  don't  know  what's 
right,  I  don't  know  what's  true ;  my  mind  is  con 
fused,  and  my  heart  aches  as  if  it  would  break.  O 
mother!  are  you  indeed  lost  to  me  forever?  If  you 
should  die,  Theron,  would  I  never  see  you  again  ? 
This  is  terrible,  terrible.  Please  take  me  home.  I 
cannot  think.  Perhaps  to-morrow  some  light  will 
come.  I  am  in  thick  darkness  now." 

He  could  only  comply  with  her  request,  and  hope 
that  time  and  thought  would  become  his  allies. 
She  told  her  father  that  she  was  not  well,  and  shut 
herself  up  in  her  own  little  room  ;  but  for  hours  her 
mind  was  so  stunned  and  bewildered  that  it  could 
not  act  coherently. 


424  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

GROPING  HER  WAY. 

night  to  Saville  was  one  of  sleepless  anx- 
JL  iety.  He  felt  that  he  was  at  the  crisis  of  his 
life.  Indeed,  if  Vera  gave  him  back  his  ring,  saying 
that,  under  the  circumstances,  she  could  not  accept 
of  his  love,  what  would  life  be  but  a  painful  burden? 
The  result  of  the  council  which  he  knew  her  to  be 
holding  with  her  own  heart,  and  the  mysterious 
faith  which  he  had  found  so  hard  to  overcome, 
might  blast  the  hope  upon  which  he  built  all  his 
future.  When  she  appeared,  the  following  morning, 
he  scarcely  dared  lift  his  eyes  to  her  pale  face,  lest 
he  should  there  see  the  impress  of  a  determination 
which  he  might  not  be  able  to  overcome.  Bur,  in 
stead  of  a  strong  resolve,  he  saw  only  irresolution 
and  trouble,  her  mobile  features  revealing  the  deep 
disquietude  and  uncertainty  of  her  mind.  He  also 
saw,  from  her  greeting  and  wistful  eyes,  how  tena 
ciously  her  heart  clung  to  him.  His  manner  was  gen 
tleness  and  sympathy  itself,  and  while  she  evidently 
longed  to  receive  it  in  her  old,  frank  manner,  as 
her  right,  she  hesitated,  as  if  it  were  forbid  Jen 
and  fraught  with  danger.  Her  restraint  did 
dishearten  him,  and  he  thought  exultantly, 


GROPING  HER    WAY. 


425 


"  She  is  mine.  Her  love  will  not  permit  her  to 
give  me  up ;  her  old  beliefs  are  shaken.  Time,  gen 
tleness,  and  the  truth  shall  be  my  strong  allies,  and 
to  them  she  will  surely  yield." 

Her  father  was  too  preoccupied  to  notice  that 
anything  was  amiss,  and  soon  after  the  morning 
meal  was  over,  departed  on  one  of  his  lonely  tramps 
into  the  forest. 

Saville  led  Vera  again  to  their  old,  secluded  haunt 
on  the  hill-side,  hoping  that  ere  the  day  closed  he 
might  satisfy  her  mind  sufficiently  to  secure  an  ac 
quiescence  in  his  plans,  which,  if  at  first  hesitating 
and  full  of  fear,  would  soon  become  hearty  and  de 
cided. 

"  I  learn  by  your  face  and  manner,  dearest,"  he 
said,  "  that  you  will  not  send  'me  away  a  despairing 
and  reckless  man." 

She  shivered  at  these  words,  for  they  opened  a 
new  vista  of  difficulty  and  danger. 

She  sat  down  on  a  mossy  rock  and  put  her  hands 
to  her  head,  saying,  in  pathetic,  childlike  simplicity, 

"  I  can't  seem  to  think  any  more.  I  can  only  feel 
and  suffer.  My  head  is  still  all  confused,  and  my 
heart  is  like  lead." 

"  Let  me  think  for  you,  Vera,"  he  said,  taking  one 
of  her  cold,  passive  hands.  "  Let  me  assure  you, 
also,  that  I  do  not  consider  my  cause  so  desperate 
and  my  views  so  unsound  that  I  must  take  advan 
tage  of  yeur  weakness,  and  urge  you  to  a  hasty 
decision.  I  wish  to  carry  your  reason  and  all  pure, 
womanly  feelings  with  me  at  every  step." 

"  O  Theron  '  would  to  God  I  knew  what  is  right, 


426  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

what  is  true !  And  you  say  there  is  no  God.  I  am 
bewildered  and  lost." 

"The  impulses  of  nature  are  right,  Vera.  The 
unerring  instincts  of  our  own  hearts  are  true,  if  in 
each  case  our  reason  approves." 

"  The  impulses  of  nature  are  right,"  she  repeated 
slowly  after  him. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  eagerly  :  "and  you,  as  nature's 
nearest  and  most  perfect  child,  will  soon  see  that  I 
am  correct.  What  we  feel — what  we  think  within 
our  own  breasts — that  we  know.  What  we  see  and 
experience  in  nature  without  we  also  know ;  but 
what  else  are  we  sure  of?  I  am  not  asking  you  to 
peril  your  happiness  on  what  some  old,  bigoted  Jews 
wrote  a  millennium  or  two  ago  ;  but  to  build  it  surely 
on  what  your  own  eyes,  your  own  heart  and  reason, 
assure  you  of  to-day.  I  am  here  at  your  side  ;  I  am 
loyal  to  you  to  my  heart's  core.  To  the  utmost 
extent  of  my  ability  you  can  depend  upon  me ; 
while  I  live— 

"  Ah  !  Theron,  there  is  the  terrible  part  of  your 
belief — '  While  you  live.'  Do  you  not  see  that  you 
are  standing  on  a  little  point,  with  a  black,  rayless 
gulf  all  around  you  ?  What  if  you  should  fall  ? 
What  if  you  should  die  ?  Where  could  I  find 
you." 

"  Dismiss  these  morbid  fancies,  dearest.  There  is 
no  need  of  supposing  that  I  shall  fall  or  die.  I  have 
the  presentiment  of  a  long  and  happy  life  with  you, 
if  I  can  only  dissipate  the  clouds  of  superstition 
from  your  mind,  and,  after  life  is  over,  we  shall  sleep 
and  not  be  conscious  of  our  loss.  But  now,  long 


GROPING  HER    WAY.  427 

before  that  deep  oblivion  comes,  to  see  a  bliss  be 
yond  that  of  your  fancied  heaven,  almost  within  our 
grasp,  and  yet  to  be  denied — this  is  more  than  human 
fortitude  can  endure.  Let  me  teach  you  the  truth 
from  your  own  experience,  and  pardon  the  seeming 
egotism  of  my  argument,  for  it  is  all  for  your  sake 
as  truly  as  my  own.  The  evening  you  buried  your 
mother  you  said  I  saved  your  heart  from  breaking. 
The  voice  of  living  sympathy  brought  relief.  Your 
mother  did  not  help  you,  simply  because  she  could 
not.  She  was  sleeping,  and  even  the  voice  of  her 
child  could  not  awaken  her.  If  you  will  calmly 
think  of  it,  she  has  been  lost  to  you  from  the  moment 
she  breathed  her  last,  and  all  that  she  has  been  to 
you  since  has  been  due  to  your  vivid  memory  and 
strong  imagination.  At  no  time  can  you  prove  her 
presence  or  show  that  she  gave  you  any  practical 
help." 

"  O  Theron  !  I  never  felt  so  orphaned  before,"  she 
sobbed. 

"  I  know  my  words  hurt  you  cruelly,  darling,  but 
they  are  necessary  to  your  final  health  and  happiness. 
When  even  your  light  touch  bound  up  my  wound, 
it  caused  me  agony  for  the  moment ;  but  I  am  here 
to-day  because  of  that  suffering.  Go  back  with  me 
to  the  time  when  I  found  you  near  your  old  desolated 
home.  You  were  embracing  the  unresponsive 
mound  beneath  which  your  mother  was  sleeping, 
and  the  cold,  unanswering  silence  was  breaking  your 
heart.  You  had  become  timidity  itself,  feeling 
justly  that  you  had  no  protector.  As  soon  as  I 
appeared,  you  had  a  strong  arm  to  lean  upon.  Has 


428 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


not  your  life  improved  since  that  day  ?  Has  it  not 
grown  fuller,  more  complete  and  satisfying?" 

"  I  should  have  been  dead  but  for  your  coming, 
Theron." 

"  That  which  is  worse  than  death  might  have  hap 
pened,"  he  said  shudderingly.  "  Think  of  the  perils 
to  which  you  were  exposed  before  I  came.  I  have 
been  to  the  point  of  Butter  Hill,  where  you  escaped 
a  fate  too  frightful  to  be  imagined.  As  I  pictured 
you  climbing  that  awful  precipice,  I  trembled  and 
grew  faint.  Who  helped  you  then  ?  " 

"  It  seemed  as  if  God  helped  me." 

"  But  was  there  in  fact  any  practical  help  save 
that  which  these  little  hands  and  feet  gave,  bruised 
and  bleeding  as  they  must  have  been?  Kindly 
nature  held  out  a  shrub  here  and  there,  and  the 
granite  rock,  more  merciful  than  your  imagined 
deity,  gave  you  a  few  crevices  on  which  to  step  for 
a  perilous  moment.  Your  own  weary  feet  carried 
you  on  that  lonely,  desperate  journey  home,  and 
when  your  natural  and  human  strength  gave  out, 
you  fell.  No  one  helped  you,  and,  were  it  not  for 
the  accident  of  old  Gula  stumbling  against  your  un 
conscious  form,  you  would  have  perished  within  a 
few  yards  of  your  own  door.  And  if,  a  little  later, 
the  ruffians  had  found  you  in  the  cabin,  who  would 
have  saved  you  ?  Who  has  saved  thousands,  equally 
helpless,  from  every  outrage  that  incarnate  fiends 
could  perpetrate  ?  Poor,  inoffensive  Gula  was  res 
cued  by  a  human  hand.  My  life  was  saved  by  these 
dear  hands.  Tell  me  when  and  where  any  real  and 
practical  blessing  came  to  our  lives  that  was  not 


GROPING  HER    WA  Y. 


429 


brought  by  human  hands,  and  prompted  by  human 
love." 

She  turned  and  clung  to  him  almost  in  terror,  as 
she  said, 

"  Theron,  is  this  arm,  which  death  may  at  any 
moment  paralyze,  my  only  defense  ?  " 

'•What  have  been  the  facts,  darling?  Who  has 
helped  you  ?  Who  rescued  me  when  I  should  have 
soon  died  from  my  wound,  as  that  thing  which  the 
law  calls  my  wife  devoutly  wished  ?  " 

"  There  seems  reason  in  what  you  say,"  she  said; 
"  and  yet  it  is  so  contrary  to  all  that  I  ever  hoped 
or  believed  that  I  cannot  grasp  it,"  and  her  brow 
contracted  for  a  few  moments  in  deep  thought. 

He  did  not  interrupt  her,  wishing  to  give  his 
words  time  to  make  their  impression. 

At  last  she  said  slowly,  "  I  must  try  to  feel  my 
way  out  of  this  darkness,  and  come  to  some  clear 
sense  of  what  your  words  mean  and  involve.  I  shall 
have  to  trust  you,  Theron.  You  can  easily  deceive 
such  an  ignorant  child  as  I  am,  but  I  know  you  will 
not.  I  have  always  lived  in  these  mountains,  and 
mother  and  the  Bible  have  been  my  only  teachers." 

"  You  forget  nature,  Vera.  I  cannot  help  feeling 
that  she  has  taught  you  more  than  all.  It  is  her 
influence  that  makes  you  so  docile  and  receptive. 
Your  mind  opens  to  the  truth,  like  the  flower  buds 
to  the  rain  and  dew,  whenever  they  fall." 

"Alas!  the  resemblance  is  too  true.  You  might 
put  within  the  petals  of  the  silly  flowers  that  which 
would  poison  them,  and  they  would  know  no  better 
at  first." 


430 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


"  And  can  you  think  I  would  try  to  poison  you! 
mind,  Vera?" 

"  Not  willingly  and  knowingly,  Theron ;  and  yet 
I  tremble  at  the  thoughts  you  suggest,  and  fear  they 
involve  more  to  me  than  you  realize.  Besides,  if  you 
are  right,  so  many  must  be  mistaken  ;  at  least  I  think 
so.  I  am  so  ignorant,  and  my  life  has  been  so  remote 
from  the  world,  that  I  distrust  myself  on  every  side. 
You  say  that  the  great  and  wise  believe  as  you  do." 

Here  Saville  launched  out  with  enthusiasm  and 
sincerity.  "  The  learned  men  of  France,"  he  said, 
"  are  the  great  thinkers  of  the  world.  They  are 
rapidly  emancipating  their  own  nation,  and  their 
ideas  are  finding  an  increasing  number  of  adherents 
in  this  country  and  England,  especially  among  the 
educated  classes.  Only  those  who  will  not  or 
cannot  think  for  themselves  hold  to  .the  old  super 
stitions  ;  and  in  a  generation  or  two  more,  all  oui 
barbarous  laws  will  have  to  be  remodeled  in  ac 
cordance  with  truth  and  reason.  Men  will  evolve 
their  laws  from  their  own  nature  and  needs,  and 
hence  they  will  cease  to  be  mere  arbitrary  and 
irrational  restraints.  By  following  the  impulses  and 
teachings  of  nature,  we  may  hasten  forward  that 
golden  age.  It  was  one  of  my  dearest  hopes  that  I 
might,  in  this  new  land,  contribute  much  toward 
reorganizing  society,  and  breaking  the  chains  under 
which  so  many  are  groaning.  Perhaps  I  have  been 
made  to  feel  how  galling  and  unnatural  they  are 
that  I  might  be  fitted  for  the  task." 

"Who  has  arranged  it  so  that  you  might  be 
fitted  for  this  task?"  asked  Vera  innocently. 


GROPING  HER    WAY.  43! 

"  Well,  destiny,  nature,  or  perhaps  I  should  more 
correctly  say,  it  is  a  happy  chance,"  answered  Sa- 
ville,  somewhat  confused. 

"  It's  all  so  strange  and  vague  to  me,"  said  Vera 
despondently.  "  These  questions  are  too  deep  for 
me.  I  cannot  follow  you.  There  seems  nothing 
sure  existing  but  yourself,  and  in  a  few  hours  you 
will  be  gone,  and  then  comes  the  awful  uncertainty 
whether  you  will  ever  return."  After  a  few  moments 
she  added,  with  an  averted  face  and  burning  blush, 
"As  things  are  now,  Theron,  we  cannot  be  truly 
married." 

"  Yes,  Vera,  it  will  be  my  only  true  marriage. 
Was  that  a  true  marriage  which  joined  me  tempo- 
rarity  to  a  woman  whom  I  loathe  and  hate,  though 
solemnized  by  every  priestly  and  superstitious  form? 
Nature  joins  our  hands,  hearts,  and  lives,  and  makes 
us  one  in  reality." 

"Would  it  be  true  marriage  to  your  mother?" 
asked  Vera,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  My  mother  holds  to  the  old  views,"  said  Saville 
hesitatingly.  "  While  we  love  each  other  dearly, 
we  differ  radically  on  many  points.  She  does  not 
approve  of  this  war  for  liberty." 

"  It  would  not  seem  a  true  marriage  to  my  mother, 
if  she  were  living,  Theron,"  continued  Vera  in  the 
same  low,  troubled  voice. 

"  Probably  not,  Vera.  With  her  prejudices  and 
beliefs,  the  mere  formal  rite,  which  is  impossible, 
would  be  essential.  But  your  mother  is  dead,  and  I 
am  here." 

"  The  Bible  would  be  against  it,  Theron." 


432  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be.  But,  as  the  Bible  is  a 
mere  expression  of  human  opinion,  we  have  a  better 
right  to  our  opinions  in  this  more  enlightened  age." 

"  Would  many  people,  in  our  own  age,  regard  it 
as  true  marriage  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  I  fear,"  he  said  sadly;  "  but  they  will 
in  time.  But  what  is  the  world  to  us  ?  I  am  more 
than  willing  to  share  your^  seclusion  among  these 
beautiful  mountains.  As  long  as  we  know  that  we 
are  doing  right,  what  need  we  care  what  the  world 
thinks?" 

"  If  there  is  no  God  to  whom  we  are  responsible," 
she  said  in  sudden  recklessness,  "  and  if  in  a  few 
days  we  shall  cease  to  be,  why  need  we  care  what  is 
right  ?  It  seems  to  me  the  words  right  and  wrong 
have  no  meaning.  The  only  question  is,  What  do 
we  want  to  do  ?  We  must  hastily  snatch  at  what 
ever  is  within  our  reach,  and  make  the  most  of  it 
while  we  can." 

"  Now,  Vera,  darling,  those  words  are  not  like 
your  old  self,"  he  replied,  with  a  slight  accent  of 
reproach.  "  You  have  only  to  follow  the  instincts 
of  your  pure,  womanly  nature  to  do  what  is  right 
and  shun  what  is  wrong." 

"  But  your  words  are  sweeping  away  all  on  which 
I  based  my  motives  and  rules  of  action,"  she  con 
tinued,  in  the  same  desperate  tone.  "  The  Heavenly 
Father  that  I  tried  to  please,  as  a  dutiful  child,  is  but 
a  mere  name.  The  mother,  whose  gentle  teaching 
echoed  His  will,  has  ceased  to  exist.  I  am  to  live  a 
few  uncertain  days,  and  then  also  become  nothing. 
In  accordance  with  all  I  have  been  taught  to  believe 


GROPING  HER    WAY.  433 

true,  I  have  no  right  to  sit  here  listening  to  your 
love.  Neither  your  mother  nor  mine  would  believe 
it  right,  and,  strange  to  say,  I  have  a  guilty  fear  in 
my  own  heart  while  doing  so.  I  don't  understand 
it.  And  yet,  if  you  are  not  mistaken  in  what  you 
have  told,  me,  why  need  I  care?  You  are  here.  I 
am  sure  of  to-day.  That  is  all." 

He  was  appalled  at  the  reckless  and  unnatural 
expression  of  her  face.  Instead  of  the  pure,  gentle 
light  which  usually  beamed  from  her  deep  blue 
eyes,  it  almost  seemed  as  if  a  lurid  flame  were  burn 
ing  back  of  them.  He  asked  himself,  in  wonder,  Is 
this  Vera?  But  he  only  said,  gently  and  sooth 
ingly, 

"  The  truth  involves  such  great  and  radical 
changes  in  your  belief  that  you  are  confused,  dar 
ling.  You  will  calmly  see  everything  in  its  proper 
light  by-and-by ;  and,  that  you  may,  I  will  give  you 
an  abundance  of  time." 

"  '  Time  ! '  "  she  repeated,  with  a  bitter  laugh  ; 
"  that  is  the  only  thing  in  which  we  need  to  practice 
economy.  In  a  few  hours  you  will  mount  your  horse 
and  vanish  like  my  other  delusions.  What  is  sure, 
save  this  fleeting  moment?" 

Then,  in  strong  revulsion  of  feeling,  she  com 
menced  weeping  bitterly. 

"  There  is  something  wrong  in  all  this,  Theron," 
she  sobbed.  "  I  am  frightened.  I  tremble  at  my 
self,  and  am  sore  perplexed.  It  seems  as  if  I  were 
falling  down  some  black  chasm,  and  even  your  hand 
could  not  reach  me.  The  impulses  of  nature,  as 
you  call  them,  and  conscience  are  all  at  war.  I  don't 


434 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


understand  myself  at  all.  I  only  know  that  some 
thing  is  wrong,  and  that  there  must  be  a  dreadful 
mistake  somewhere.  Have  pity  on  me  and  take 
me  home." 

The  man  of  theories  was  almost  as  greatly  per 
plexed  as  herself,  but  he  took  comfort  in  the 
thought  that  she  was  unstrung  by  her  strong  emo 
tions  ;  that  her  trust  in  her  old  beliefs  had  given  way 
so  suddenly  that  she  was  too  bewildered  to  see  the 
solid  ground  where  he  stood.  With  soothing,  gen 
tle  words  he  led  her  to  the  cabin. 

"  I  will  go  now,"  he  said;  "but  shall  return  in  a 
day  or  two,  and  then  you  will  be  able  to  see  every 
thing  clearer,  and  you  will  be  your  old  happy  self." 

"Theron,  do  not  go,"  she  said,  with  such  sudden 
arid  passionate  earnestness  that  he  was  surprised. 
Then  she  added,  almost  instantly,  in  a  tone  of  the 
deepest  sadness,  "  Yes,  you  must  go,  you  must  go. 
Good-by,"  and  she  hastened  to  the  seclusion  of 
her  own  room. 

He  went  away,  feeling  that  all  was  still  in  doubt. 


STRONG   TEMPTATION.  435 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

STRONG  TEMPTATION. 

OEVERAL  days  passed  before  Saville's   duties 

0  permitted   him  to  be  absent  again.     To  him 
they  were  desperately  long,  but  to  Vera  they  were 
interminable.     And  yet  she  almost  dreaded  to  see 
him,  for  she  could  not  solve  the  questions  of  right 
and  duty.     Her  heart  sided  with  him  and  his  argu 
ments  with  pleadings  so  strong  that  it  seemed  they 
would  not  be  denied.     The  doubts  he  had  raised  in 
her  mind  grew  stronger  as  she  dwelt  upon  them. 

"  If  this  life  is  all,"  she  sighed  again  and  again, 
"  how  unspeakably  dreadful  to  lose  this  one  chance 
of  happiness  !  But,  even  if  I  yield,  will  I  be  happy  ?  " 
she  asked  herself  in  prophetic  dread.  "  I  have  such 
a  strange,  guilty  fear  in  giving  up  all  my  old  belief, 
and  doing  what  mother  forbade.  If  I  could  only 
become  his  wife,  as  mother  said,  I  should  be  the 
happiest,  proudest  woman  that  ever  lived.  But 
now,  although  he  is  so  true,  I  dare  not  trust  him.  I 
dare  not  trust  myself.  I  feel  that  it  is  a  leap  into 
the  dark.  Oh  !  that  I  knew  what  was  right ;  oh  !  that 

1  knew  what  was  true  ! 

"  And  yet  I  cannot  give  him  up.  It  would  now 
be  a  million-fold  worse  than  death.  Can  there  be 


436 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


anything  more  dreadful  in  all  the  future  even  if  the 
Bible  is  true?  How  much  easier  it  would  be  to  give 
him  every  drop  of  my  heart's  blood  than  to  give  him 
back  this  ring  !  How  strange  it  feels  upon  my  finger! 
It  burns  like  a  circlet  of  fire.  It  can't" be  right.  Oh  ! 
is  it  very  wrong?" 

Thus,  by  turns,  doubt,  passion,  fear,  and  love 
surged  over  her  mind  till  she  thought  she  would  lose 
her  reason. 

Her  old  playmates,  the  flowers,  began  to  look  at  her 
reproachfully,  the  notes  of  the  birds  to  grow  strange 
ly  plaintive,  and  the  breathings  of  the  winds  among 
the  trees  were  long-drawn  sighs,  responsive  to  her  own. 

"  It  is  just  as  mother  said  it  would  be,"  she 
moaned ;  "  nature  frowns  upon  me.  It  must  be 
wrong.  But  if  I  am  mistaken,  if  she  were  mis 
taken,  if  this  is  only  a  sick  fancy  of  my  disquieted 
mind — oh  !  that  I  knew  what  was  true  and  right." 

One  lovely  afternoon,  weary  and  torn  by  conflict 
ing  emotions,  she  went  out  to  the  old  haunt  on  the 
hill-side.  In  her  distress  she  threw  herself  upon  the 
ground,  and  buried  her  burning  face  in  the  cool  grass. 
How  long,  in  her  deep  preoccupation,  she  lay  there, 
she  did  not  know,  but  at  last  a  kind  voice  said, 

"  Vera." 

"O  Theron  !  have  you  come  once  more?" 

"  Yes,  darling  ;  I  could  not  come  before." 

Then  she  became  silent,  and  seemed  under  the 
most  painful  restraint.  She  was  so  unlike  her  formef 
self  that  he  sighed  deeply. 

She  burst  into  tears  as  she  said,  "  That  is  the  way 
it  is  all  ending :  sighs,  sighs,  only  sighs." 


STRONG   TEMPTATION.  437 

"  Must  it  all  end  in  sighs  ?  "  he  asked  very  sadly. 

"  I  fear  that  it  will  anyway.  Theron,  I  get  no 
light.  I  cannot  give  you  up,  and  yet  my  heart  fore 
bodes  evil  till  I  tremble  with  dread." 

"  You  are  not  well,  Vera.  Your  hands  are  feverish, 
and  your  pulse  rapid  and  uneven." 

"  It  but  faintly  echoes  the  unrest  of  my  heart.  I 
have  thought  and  thought  till  my  head  swam  in  a 
dizzy  whirl.  My  love  has  been  your  ever-present  and 
eloquent  advocate.  At  times,  I  have  been  on  the 
point  of  recklessly  shutting  my  eyes,  and  of  letting 
you  lead  me  whither  you  would." 

"  My  only  wish,  darling,  is  to  lead  you  to  deep 
content  and  lasting  peace." 

"  How  mockingly  impossible  that  happy  condition 
seems!  O  Theron  !  I  don't  understand  myself  at  all. 
It  seems  but  the  other  day,  and  I  was  a  simple  child  ; 
now  I  am  I  know  not  what.  My  own  feelings  remind 
me  of  Shakspeare's  tragedies,  which  I  never  half 
understood  before.  Even  in  my  dreams  I  am  walk 
ing  on  the  crumbling  edge  of  an  abyss.  Even  if  I 
yield,  something  tells  me  that  I  shall  lose  you.  It 
can't  be  right,  Theron,  it  can't  be  right,  though  your 
words  and  your  unspeakable  kindness  to  me  make  it 
seem  so.  I  dare  not  think  of  your  mother,  much  less 
of  my  own.  Did  my  poor,  dying  mother  have  a 
prophetic  insight  into  the  future  when  she  charged 
me,  '  Be  true  to  your  God  and  your  faith  ;  be  true 
to  my  poor  teachings  and  your  own  pure,  womanly 
nature.  Let  the  Bible  guide  you  in  all  things,  and 
then  you  will  always  have  peace  in  your  heart,  and 
find  sympathy  in  nature  without.  But  rest  assured, 


438  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

however  wise  and  greatly  to  your  advantage  any 
thing  may  seem,  if  your  Bible  is  against  it,  do  not 
hesitate ;  turn  away,  for  it  will  not  end  well.  Keep 
thy  heart  with  all  diligence.  When  it  troubles  you, 
and  your  old  playmates,  the  innocent  flowers,  look 
at  you  reproachfully,  something  will  be  wrong '  ? 
Theron,  they  do  look  at  me  reproachfully,  and  my 
heart  is  full  of  strange  disquietude  and  fear.  Mother 
said,  '  Keep  true,  and  our  separation  will  be  brief.' 
My  feelings  of  late  seem  to  rob  me  of  the  right  of 
even  remembering  her.  Half-forgotten  sentences 
from  her  burned  Bible  come  into  my  mind  like 
lightning  flashes.  One  of  these  is  ever  ringing  in 
my  ears.  I  don't  remember  its  connection,  but  the 
words  are  dreadful,  and  they  too  often  express  my 
condition.  They  are,  'A  fearful  looking  for  of  judg 
ment.'  Then  again  I  almost  see  the  Saviour  looking 
at  me  so  reproachfully — just  as  He  must  have  looked 
on  Peter  when  he  denied  his  Lord.  And  Shak- 
speare,  too,  which  you  say  is  one  of  the  greatest 
books  of  the  world,  seems  to  echo  the  Bible.  The 
writer  must  have  understood  the  human  heart,  for 
he  describes  mine.  He  gives  the  experience  of  those 
who  did  wrong,  and  he  portrays  myself.  But  when 
I  think  of  you  and  your  devoted  loyalty  to  me  when 
any  one  else  would  have  cast  me  off,  I  have  not  the 
heart  to  deny  you  anything.  As  for  myself,  I  would 
rather  die  a  thousand  deaths  than  be  separated 
from  you.  If  I  were  only  sure  what  was  right — 
that  is  the  only  ground  on  which  I  can  end  this  crue] 
conflict." 

"  And  that  is  the  only  ground  on  which  I  wish 


STRONG   TEMPTATION. 


439 


you    to    end    it,"   he    said    gently    and  soothingly, 
taking  her  hand. 

But  he  was  surprised  at  the  intensity  and  far- 
reaching  character  of  her  thoughts  and  emotions. 
Were  it  not  for  the  external  shadows  which  had 
fallen  so  darkly  on  her  life,  she  had  almost  seemed 
to  him  an  emanation  of  the  sunshine,  a  being  akin 
to  her  companions,  the  flowers,  and  with  no  capabil 
ities  for  the  dark,  passionate  thoughts  which  were 
surging  up  in  her  mind.  Was  nature  failing  him 
who  had  been  her  disciple  and  votary?  Her  im 
pulses  in  this,  her  child,  were  far  from  being  satis 
factory.  In  his  strong  delusion  he  then  could  not 
understand  that  it  was  Vera's  very  nearness  to 
nature's  heart  that  caused  the  deep  unrest  and  dread 
as  he  sought  to  lead  her  into  violation  of  the  subtle 
laws  which  the  Divine  Author  had  caused  to  perme 
ate  all  His  work. 

The  eating  of  the  forbidden  fruit  appeared  a  sim 
pie,  harmless  act  in  the  mellow  light  of  Eden  ;  but 
it  broke  the  safe,  harmonious  control  of  God's  will, 
and   there   has   been  jarring,  deadly  discord,  ever 
since. 

But,  assured  in  his  own  theories,  he  reasoned  with 
Vera  long  and  earnestly.  He  showed  her  how  the 
mastery  of  a  strong  superstition  is  slow  to  yield  to 
the  light  of  truth.  He  explained  how  hard  and 
gradual  was  the  death  of  ancient  faiths,  which  now 
have  no  credence  whatever.  He  tried  to  make  it 
clear  that  the  transition  from  the  habitual  thought 
and  belief  of  years  must  be  stormy  and  full  of  mis 
givings. 


440 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


She  listened  intently,  honestly  seeking  light ;  but 
when  he  was  through,  she  shook  her  head  sadly, 
saying, 

"  What  you  say  seems  true.  I  cannot  answer  you, 
I  cannot  refute  your  argument ;  like  a  weak  woman, 
I  can  only  feel.  You  men  think  with  your  heads, 
Theron  ;  but  I  imagine  that  women  .think  with  their 
hearts." 

"  Well,  Vera,  both  your  head  and  heart  will  be 
satisfied  in  time.  I  feel  sure  that  when  I  come 
again  the  clouds  and  mists  will  have  disappeared. 
And  it  may  be  quite  a  long  time  before  you  see  me, 
for  this  is  a  sort  of  farewell  visit.  The  French  fleet 
has  arrived  upon  our  coast,  and  officers  are  needed 
who  are  thoroughly  conversant  with  both  the  French 
and  English  languages.  I  have  been  assigned  to 
duty  on  General  Sullivan's  staff,  and  start  for  the 
East  to-morrow." 

Vera  became  very  pale,  and  murmured,  "  Is  God, 
seeing  my  weakness,  sending  you  away,  and  into 
new  and  greater  dangers  ?  This  is  the  worst  of  it 
all,  for,  however  I  decide,  you  must  suffer.** 

"  No,  Vera,  only  zsyou  send  me  away  shall  I  suffer, 
and  you  only  have  the"  power  to  blight  my  life. 
Without  your  love  it  would  be  an  unendurable 
burden." 

"  You  will  never  cease  to  have  my  love ;  but, 
Theron,  I  have  the  dreadful  presentiment  that  if  I 
do  wrong,  I  shall  bring  evil  upon  you,  and  that  would 
be  worse  than  anything  that  could  happen  to  me." 

"  Well,  darling,  only  time  can  cure  you  of  these 
strange,  wild  fancies.  I  will  fortify  my  heart  with 


STRONG   TEMPTATION. 


441 


hope  that  when  I  come  again,  you  will  give  me  your 
old  joyous  and  confident  welcome.*' 

"  Must  you  go?"  she  asked  passionately,  a  reck 
less  light  coming  into  her  eyes. 
-  "Yes." 

She  swayed  for  a  moment  like  a  reed  shaken  by 
the  wind.  She  seemed  about  to  throw  herself  into 
his  arms,  but  turned  away  instead,  and  cowering  to 
the  earth,  murmured, 

"  May  God  have  pity  on  us  both." 

He  lifted  her  up  with  a  manner  that  was  at  once 
gentle,  strong,  and  protecting,  and,  placing  her  hand 
on  his  arm,  led  her  home. 

"  Good-by,  Vera,"  he  said,  pressing  her  hand  only 
to  his  lips,  in  a  way  that  was  full  of  respect  as  well 
as  of  tenderness ;  "  your  healthful  mind  will  soon 
recover,  and  be  clear  and  strong  when  I  come  again." 

She  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  but  he  never 
forgot  the  expression  of  her  face. 
19* 


442 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 
A  STRANGER'S  COUNSEL. 

F^OR  several  days  thereafter  Vera's  distress  was  so 
great  that  even  the  self-absorbed  inmates  of 
the  cabin  noticed  it ;  but  she  satisfied  them  fully  by 
saying  that  Mr.  Saville  had  been  ordered  away,  and 
it  might  be  a  long  time  before  he  returned. 

But  her  spiritual  conflict  went  on  with  increasing 
bitterness,  until  she  grew  almost  desperate,  and  feel 
ing  that  she  must  decide  the  question  one  way  or 
the  other,  the  thought  occurred  to  her  that  perhaps 
at  her  mother's  grave  duty  and  truth  might  become 
clearer.  Something  might  there  make  it  known 
whether  she  was  restrained,  as  Saville  said,  by  the 
strong  though  shattered  powers  of  an  old  super 
stition,  or  by  the  voices  of  truth  and  nature  within 
her  heart.  So,  one  beautiful  afternoon  about  the 
middle  of  July,  she  started,  as  some  remorseful  pil 
grim  might  seek  a  shrine  famous  for  its  sacred 
powers. 

But  when  she  drew  near  the  familiar  place,  un 
wonted  sounds  filled  her  with  apprehension,  and 
soon  from  a  sheltered  height  she  saw  that  the  rocky 
hill  back  of  the  site  of  the  old  cabin  was  thronged 
with  soldiers,  under  whose  labors  were  rising  the  walls 
of  a  work  afterward  known  as  Fort  Putnam.  She 


A   STRANGER'S  COUNSEL.  443 

could  not  descend  into  the  valley  without  taking  the 
risk  of  being  seen  by  many  eyes,  and  meeting  those 
from  whom  she  shrank  with  fearful  memories.  She 
hastily  retraced  her  steps,  weeping  as  she  went,  and 
feeling  more  than  ever  before  that  Saville's  words 
were  true — that  she  had  indeed  lost  her  mother,  and 
that  not  even  her  grave  would  be  left. 

"  Theron  is  right ;  there  is  no  hope,  no  protection 
for  me  but  in  him,"  she  had  almost  concluded, 
when  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  caused  her  to  spring 
from  the  path  and  conceal  herself  in  a  thicket. 

A  tall,  grave-looking  officer  soon  appeared  riding 
leisurely  toward  her.  His  face  was  so  open  and 
kindly  in  its  expression,  that  Vera  felt  that  she 
would  have  had  no  cause  to  fear  him,  even  if  he  had 
discovered  her. 

A  few  steps  beyond  where  she  was  hiding,  a  little 
stream  fell  into  a  rocky  basin,  sparkled  a  moment  in 
the  sunlight,  and  then  stole  on  into  the  deep  shade 
of  the  forest. 

The  stranger  seemed  pleased  with  the  spot,  for  he 
reined  up  his  horse,  and,  removing  his  hat,  wiped  his 
brow,  and  then  looked  around  as  if  to  assure  himself 
that  he  was  alone.  Having  dismounted,  he  drew  a 
small  silver  cup  from  his  pocket  and  drank  from  the 
rill.  He  then  suffered  his  eager  horse  to  dip  his 
nose  deeply  into  the  water  of  the  little  pool. 

"Ha!  Lion,  that  tastes  good  to  us  both,  doesn't 
it? "he  said,  stroking  the  mane  of  the  beautiful 
animal.  Then  he  slipped  off  the  bridle,  and  per 
mitted  the  horse  to  crop  the  grass  that  grew  green 
and  rank  in  the  cool,  moist  spot. 


444  NEAR    TO    NATURE' S   HEART. 

Laying  his  hat  on  a  rock  near,  the  stranger  sat 
down  and  .took  a  small  book  from  his  pocket,  which 
he  quietly  read  for  some  little  time,  often  moving 
his  lips,  and  shaking  his  head  with  a  slow,  gentle 
emphasis,  as  if  the  words  before  him  were  full  of 
deep,  grave  import. 

Vera's  tears  dried  upon  her  face  as  she  watched 
him  with  increasing  interest.  "  I  wonder  what  he  is 
reading,"  she  thought.  "  It  must  be  a  good  book,  for 
it  gives  such  a  sweet,  noble  expression  to  his  face. 
I  could  trust  that  man.  Oh !  that  I  dared  ask  coun 
sel  of  him.  Perhaps  God  has  given  me  the  chance. 
Be  still,  poor,  foolish  heart,"  she  whispered,  putting 
her  hand  to  her  side  in  her  old,  characteristic  way. 
"  Why  am  I  so  timid  ?  " 

But  when,  to  her  great  surprise,  the  stranger  laid 
the  book  down,  and,  kneeling  beside  it,  commenced 
praying  audibly  to  God,  her  "hesitation  vanished. 
Crossing  the  intervening  space  with  silent  tread,  she 
knelt  near,  and  her  tears  fell  fast  as  his  voice  grew 
earnest  and  importunate.  The  burden  upon  his 
heart  appeared  to  be  his  country's  weal ;  and  in  his 
earnest  desire  that  all  the  blessings  of  liberty  and 
good  government  might  be  secured,  he  quite  forgot 
himself.  As  she  listened  to  his  strong  pleadings, 
her  own  wavering  faith  began  to  revive,  and  she  felt 
that  a  great  living  Presence  was  near  to  them  both. 

When  the  stranger  rose,  and  saw  -the  kneeling 
form  of  Vera,  his  surprise  was  very  great,  and  he 
was  almost  resentful,  at  first,  that  his  privacy  had 
been  intruded  upon  ;  but  a  second's  scrutiny  of  the 
bowed  head  and  tearful  face  quite  disarmed  him. 


A    STRANGER'S  COUNSEL.  445 

"  What  do  you  wish,  my  child  ?"  he  asked,  a  lit 
tle  coldly,  however. 

"  Pardon  me,"  faltered  Vera,  rising,  and  putting 
her  hand  to  her  side.  "  I — will  you  please  forgive 
a  poor  child  that  would  fain  learn  to  pray  also?" 

"  Surely  I  will,"  said  the  stranger  kindly,  becom 
ing  at  once  interested  in  one  who  appealed,  by  her 
modesty  and  unconscious  grace,  to  both  his  taste  and 
sympathy.  "  Do  not  be  so  frightened,  and  tell  me 
how  you  came  here." 

"  I  heard  your  horse's  steps,  and  I  was  afraid  and 
hid  myself.  But  I  was  in  sore  trouble,  sir  ;  and  when 
I  saw  you  kneel  in  prayer,  I  thought  you  might  be 
willing  to  counsel  one  of  the  'little  ones '  of  whom 
the  Bible  speaks." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  advise  you  if  I  can  ;  but  why 
not  take  counsel  of  the  Bible  itself?  That  is  the 
best  and  surest  guide." 

"  I  have  not  any,  sir ;  it  was  burned,"  she  said,  her 
tears  falling  fast.  Then  she  added  eagerly,  "  Is  the 
Bible  a  sure  guide?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  child.  How  came  you  to  doubt 
it?" 

"  I  have  been  told  that  a  great  many  people  are 
losing  faith  in  it." 

"  I  have  not  lost  faith  in  it,"  said  the  stranger, 
•with  quiet  emphasis.  And  he  took  up  the  little  vol 
ume  reverently,  adding,  "  This  book  commends  it 
self  to  my  judgment  and  conscience  more  and  more 
every  day." 

"  Is  that  a  Bible  ?  "  asked  Vera  eagerly,  and  he 
marked  her  wistful  gaze.  "  Oh !  "  she  added,. 


446  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

again  putting  her  hand  to  her  side,.  "  how  long  it  is 
since  I  have  seen  one !  " 

"  This  is  all  very  strange,"  said  the  stranger 
musingly.  "  Who  are  you,  my  child,  and  how  came 
you  to  doubt  the  Bible  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Vera  Brown,  sir.  We  are  poor  peo 
ple,  and  live  back  among  these  mountains.  My 
mother,  who  is  dead,  taught  me  to  believe  the 
Bible  ;  but  it  was  burned  in  our  old  home  by  some 
bad  men.  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  one  since, 
and  I  am  forgetting  its  teachings.  And  yet  I  have 
great  reason  now  to  remember  them.  I  don't  know 
what  is  right  and  true,  but  I  must  decide.  When  I 
saw  you  kneeling,  I  thought  perhaps  God  had  given 
me  a  chance  to  ask." 

"  Perhaps  He  did,  my  child.  '  God  is  faithful ; 
He  will  not  suffer  you  to  be  tempted  above  that  ye 
are  able.'  ' 

"  Oh  !  I  have  been  so  tempted,"  said  Vera,  burst 
ing  into  tears  ;  "  and  it  seemed  as  if  God  had  left  me 
to  struggle  alone.  I  was  told  the  Bible  was  not  true." 

"  Who  told  you  this  ?  "  asked  the  stranger,  a  flush 
of  indignation  rising  to  his  face. 

In  painful  embarrassment  she  faltered,  "  Father 
does  not  believe  as  mother  did." 

"  Then  remain  true  to  your  mother's  teaching," 
was  the  decided  response  ;  "  and  rest  assured  that 
anything  which  the  Bible  condemns  will  end  only  in 
wretchedness." 

"  That  is  what  mother  told  me." 

"Are  you  willing  to  be  guided  by  the  Bible?' 
asked  the  stranger  very  gravely. 


A    STRANGER'S  COUNSEL.  447 

"  I  will  try  to  be,"  faltered  Vera,  "  as  far  as  I  can 
remember  it." 

"  I  will  take  away  all  excuse  for  failure  ;  you  shall 
have  mine ; "  and  he  placed  the  little  book  in  her 
hands. 

"  May  God  bless  you,  sir,  for  this. gift.  I  did  not 
expect  so  much.  Never  did  one  need  it  more." 

"  Repay  me  by  doing  just  as  it  bids  you,"  said 
the  stranger,  with  kindly  interest  kindling  in  his 
eyes. 

"  God  help  me  to  do  so  !  "  she  replied  in  a  low  tone, 
but  growing  almost  faint  as  she  thought  of  all  that 
obedience  involved.  "  I  have  one  question  more," 
she  began,  but  stopped  in  deep  embarrassment. 

"  Well,  my  child,  do  not  be  afraid  ;  you  may  trust 
me." 

"  I  was  sure  of  that  when  I  first  saw  yo1i,  sir." 

"You  were  ?  Well,  that  pleases  me  more  than  all 
the  fine  things  I  ever  had  said  to  me.  But  you  are 
not  making  good  your  trust,  and  seem  afraid  to  speak 
your  mind." 

"  I  have  been  told,"  continued  Vera,  "  that  the 
wise  and  great  are  the  ones  who  doubt  the  Bible — 
people  who  are  able  to  think  for  themselves — and 
that  those  who  believe  it  do  not  or  cannot  think  for 
themselves." 

"  That  is  always  the  arrogant  way  of  these  skep 
tics,"  he  replied  indignantly.  "  Those  who  do  not  at 
once  accept  their  ever-shifting  vagaries,  are  set  down 
as  fools  or  bigots."  Then,  looking  at  the  timid 
maiden  standing  before  him  in  almost  trembling 
expectancy,  his  face  relaxed,  and  he  added  smilingly, 


448  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

"  I  will  try  to  satisfy  your  mind  on  this  point  also, 
and  will  be  a  trifle  more  confidential  than  I  imagine 
you  have  been  with  me.  /  think  for  myself,  and 
have  to  think  for  a  great  many  others ;  and  though 
I  may  be  neither  'wise  '  nor  'great/  I  am  General 
Washington." 

Vera  stepped  back  and  bowed  reverently. 

"  No,  my  child,  no  need  of  that,"  said  Washington  ; 
"  bow  only  to  the  Being  to  whom  we  have  both  knelt, 
and  on  whom  we  are  both  alike  dependent.  Trust 
and  obey  Him,  and  all  will  be  well.  And  now, 
good-by.  If  we  ever  meet  again,  I  shall  ask  you  if 
you  have  been  true  to  the  Book  in  which  your 
mother  taught  you  to  believe." 

A  sudden  change  came  over  the  shrinking  maiden, 
and,  springing  forward  with  the  freedom  and  im 
petuosity  of  a  child,  she  took  his  hand,  saying, 

"  The  God  of  the  orphan  bless  your  Excellency. 
You  will  lead  our  armies  to  victory.  I  know  it. 
God  will  answer,  through  you,  your  own  prayer." 

As  Washington  looked  down  into  the  beautiful, 
eager  face  turned  to  him,  his  eyes  moistened,  and  he 
said,  after  a  moment, 

"  Thank  you,  my  child.  Your  words  and  manner 
strengthen  me.  You  have  helped  me  as  I  hope  I 
have  aided  you.  You  have  your  burden  to  bear 
here  in  these  lonely  mountains,  as  truly  as  I  have 
mine  out  in  the  troubled  world.  For  aught  I  know 
yours  may  be  the  heavier.  But  God  will  sustain  us 
both  if  we  ask  Him.  Good-by,"  and  he  rode  away 
toward  West  Point. 

Vera  afterward  learned  that  his  visit  there  was  a 


A    STRANGER'S  COUNSEL. 


449 


transient  one  of  inspection.  In  accordance  with  a 
habit  to  which,  perhaps,  the  profoundest  philosophy 
will  ascribe  the  final  success  of  the  American  arms, 
he  had  sought  retirement  in  the  forest  that  he  might 
entreat  the  Almighty  in  behalf  of  the  cause  to  which 
he  was  devoted. 


45O  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEAfT. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  PARTING. 

VERA  sat  down  on  the  rock  which  he  had  oc 
cupied,  and,  turning  to  the  chapters  that  her 
mother's  teachings  had  made  most  familiar,  she  read 
until  the  deepening  twilight  blurred  the  page.  As 
she  rose  she  exclaimed, 

"  It  is  true ;  it  proves  itself.  It  meets  my  need 
as  the  light  does  my  eye.  My  conscience  echoes 
every  word.  O  Theron,  Theron  !  we  must  indeed 
part !  "  and  she  bowed  her  head  upon  the  little 
book,  and  wept  until  she  was  almost  too  exhausted 
to  reach  her  home. 

For  several  days  following  she  did  little  else  save 
read  the  Bible,  and  think  long  and  deeply  over  its 
teachings.  Every  day  deepened  the  conviction  that 
its  words  were  those  of  One  who  had  the  right  to 
say  to  His  earthly  children,  My  will  is  your  only  true, 
safe  law  of  action.  The  Bible's  teachings  and  prin 
ciples  so  commended  themselves  to  her  conscience 
and  unperverted  nature  that  she  felt  that  she  must 
doubt  her  own  existence — doubt  everything — or 
else  take  her  old  faith  back  into  her  heart  with 
more  than  her  old  childlike  trust ;  with  the  strong 
and  assured  confidence,  rather,  of  one  who  has 


THE  PARTING. 


451 


tested  a  friend  in  a  desperate  emergency,  and  found 
him  stanch  and  steadfast. 

Thus  the  question  of  right  and  duty  was  brought 
clearly  to  an  issue ;  the  question  which  she  tried  to 
put  off  in  its  full  and  final  settlement  until  she  had 
wholly  satisfied  her  mind  that  her  lover's  views 
were  fallacious. 

She  now  felt  perfectly  sure  that  he  was  wrong ; 
and  yet  it  was  agony  to  come  to  the  irrevocable  de 
cision  which  would  doom  herself  to  the  old,  lonely, 
and  unprotected  state,  and,  what  was  still  worse, 
to  darken  his  life  with  grief  and  perhaps  despair. 
What  might  he  not  do  in  his  reckless  unbelief?  In 
her  intense  affection  she  was  almost  ready  to  cast 
herself  away,  deliberately  and  consciously.  Were 
it  not  for  that  one  word,  duty,  which  meant  so  much 
to  her,  she  might  have  been  tempted  to  do  so.  If 
she  were  sure  that  she  alone  would  suffer  all  the 
evil  consequences,  her  grateful  love,  her  strong 
desire  to  make  him  happy  at  any  cost  to  herself, 
might  almost  lead  to  the  boundless  self-sacrifice. 

"  But  it  would  not  be  right,"  she  murmured ; 
"  and  as  sure  as  there  is  a  God,  I  can  never  make 
him  happy  by  doing  wrong." 

She  went  out  to  their  trysting-place  on  the  hill 
side,  where  she  had  been  so  sorely  tempted,  resolv 
ing  that  she  would  settle  the  question  there  once 
and  forever. 

Laying  Washington's  Bible  on  a  rock  beside  her, 
she  leaned  her  head  upon  it,  and  sighed,  • 

"  It's  earth  or  heaven ;  it's  God  or  Theron ;  it's 
a  snatch  at  something  forbidden,  or  a  long,  dark 


452 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


journey  to  my  rest ;  for,  in  giving  him  up,  I  banish 
the  possibility  of  the  faintest  ray  of  happiness  in 
this  world.  O  God !  help  me,  like  a  kind,  strong 
Father  ;  direct  and  sustain  thy  helpless  child.  If  I 
must  decide  against  Theron,  let  no  harm  come  to 
him." 

Was  it  an  audible  voice  that  answered  ?  The 
suggestion  of  inspired  words  that  had  helped  her 
once  before  was  so  strong  and  vivid  that  they  seemed 
as  if  spoken. 

"  Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord  ;  trust  also  in 
Him  ;  and  He  shall  bring  it  to  pass." 

As  if  directly  addressed,  she  replied,  with  passion 
ate  earnestness, 

"  I  will  obey  Thee  ;  I  will  trust  Thee  ;  there  is  no 
other  right  or  safe  course  for  either  Theron  or  myself." 

In  the  solemn  hush  that  followed,  she  felt  as 
if  a  kind  hand  rested  on  her  head  in  blessing. 
The  guilty  fear  and  disquietude  fled  from  her  heart 
like  ill-omened  shadows,  and  in  their  place  came 
a  deeper  peace,  a  stronger  sense  of  security  than  she 
had  ever  known  before.  Her  mother's  face,  which 
had  so  long  appeared  averted  in  reproachful  sorrow, 
was  now  beaming  upon  her  in  approving  love. 

"  O  God  !  I  thank  Thee,"  she  cried,  lifting  her 
tearful  face  to  heaven.  "  I  will  never  doubt  Thee 
again.  Mother,  dear  mother,  you  are  not  lost  to 
me.  I  am  as  sure  you  live  as  that  I  live." 

If  Saville  had  then  come,  her  strong  feeling  and 
revived  faith  would  have  made  the  ordeal  of  parting 
less  hard  to  endure ;  but  week  after  week  passed  and 
still  she  did  not  hear  from  him.  At  last  Tascar 


THE  PARTING.  453 

,  brought  a  letter,  given  him  by  Surgeon  Jasper  at 
West  Point.  It  assured  her  of  his  continued  safety, 
and  every  word  breathed  of  the  love  and  hope  which 
she  must  disappoint.  If  it  had  contained  the  tidings 
of  his  death,  she  could  have  scarcely  wept  over  it 
more  often  and  bitterly.  But  she  did  not  waver  in 
her  decision;  and  in  the  depths  of  her  heart,  far  be 
neath  all  the  tumultuous  waves  of  her  sorrow,  the 
consciousness  of  peace  and  security  remained.  She 
was  also  gaining  an  assurance  that  God,  in  some  way, 
would  make  her  loyalty  to  duty  result  in  winning  her 
lover  from  his  skepticism. 

She  did  not  dare  to  let  her  mind  dwell  on  their 
meeting,  his  disappointment,  and  the  inevitable 
parting  that  must  follow ;  but  her  constant  prayer 
was  that  she  might  be  firm,  and  that  he  might  not 
become  reckless  and  desperate. 

At  last  one  September  afternoon  Saville  came, 
and,  as  was  his  custom,  stole  into  the  glen  that  he 
might  surprise  her.  From  the  hill-side  in  his  de 
scent  he  saw  her  seated  on  a  ledge  that  projected 
from  a  rock  lying  near  the  cabin  door.  He  silently 
approached  and  looked  over  the  boulder.  His  eyes 
at  first  dwelt  only  on  the  maiden  with  an  expression 
of  the  deepest  affection ;  then  they  fell  on  the  page 
she  was  reading,  and  he  saw  that  the  book  was  the 
Bible. 

He  became  very  pale,  and  gave  the  little  volume 
almost  a  scowl  of  hate.  Instead  of  announcing  his 
presence  in  some  playful  manner,  as  he  had  intended, 
he  went  directly  around  the  rock  into  her  presence, 
with  the  aspect  of  one  who,  feeling  that  he  must 
17* 


454 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


face  a  dreadful  crisis,  will  do  it  at  once ;  but  she,  in 
the  strong,  sudden  impulse  of  her  heart,  sprang  into 
his  arms,  as  if  it  had  been  her  right. 

"  I  thank  you,  my  true,  loyal  Vera  ;  I  was  dread 
ing  a  different  reception,"  he  said,  as  if  an  infinite 
burden  were  lifted  from  his  mind. 

But  her  fast-falling  tears,  and  the  manner  in  which 
she  extricated  herself  from  his  embrace,  disappointed 
the  hope  which  her  impulsive  reception  had  raised, 
and  he  almost  despaired,  as  she  said, 

"  Come  with  me,  Theron  ;  let  our  farewell  be  where 
no  eye  can  see  us  save  that  of  our  pitying  God." 

"  Do  not  say  '  our,'  w  he  replied  harshly. 

"  Yes,  Theron,  our  God,  though  you  may  not  be 
lieve  Him  now.  I  have  found  light  that  is  unmis 
takable." 

"  Where  have  you  found  it  ?'" 

"  In  this  Bible." 

"  Curses- " 

She  put  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  O  Vera !  this  is  worse  than  the  bitterness  of 
death.  Why  did  you  not  let  me  die  in  Fort 
Clinton  ?" 

"  Theron,  don't  break  my  heart." 

"  Is  it  nothing  that  you  are  breaking  mine?" 

"  God  pity  us  both,"  she  sobbed,  burying  her  face 
in  her  hands. 

They  had  now  reached  the  spot  on  the  hill-side 
which  had  been  their  favorite  trysting-place  and 
the  scene  of  strong  temptation,  conflict,  and  victory, 
He  seated  her  on  a  rock ;  but,  instead  of  being  his 
old,  gentle  self,  he  seemed  to  have  become  a  man 


THE  PARTING.  455 

of  stone.  For  some  little  time  her  emotion  was  so 
great  that  she  could  not  speak ;  he  would  not.  At 
last,  she  asked  brokenly, 

"Theron,  do  you  doubt  my  love?" 

"  You  listen  to  old  bigots  rather  than  to  me." 

"  Is  General  Washington  a  bigot?" 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  then  said,  "  He  has  not 
thought  on  these  things.  He  simply  accepts  what 
he  is  too  indifferent  to  question." 

11  But  he  told  me  that  he  thought  very  deeply  on 
these  subjects." 

"  He  told  you !  Vera,  you  are  talking  wildly. 
Can  it  be  that  you  have  brooded  so  long  over  these 
wretched  superstitions  that  your  mind  is  becoming 
unsettled?" 

"  No,  Theron  ;  my  mind  never  was  so  clear  before. 
Only  my  heart  is  faint  and  pierced  with  sorrow  be 
cause  we  must  part.  Look  at  the  fly-leaf  of  this 
Bible." 

He  read,  in  the  clear,  unmistakable  hand  that  he 
well  knew,  the  name  "  George  Washington." 

"  He  gave  it  to  me  himself,"  continued  Vera. 

"  Am  I  dreaming?  "  muttered  Saville,  in  a  low, 
troubled  tone. 

"  Theron,"  said  Vera,  laying  her  hand  appealingly 
on  his  shoulder,  "  have  pity !  be  patient  with  me,  and 
I  will  tell  you  all.  You  can  never  know  what  this 
effort  is  costing  me.  Going  after  you  to  Fort  Clin 
ton  was  nothing  in  comparison.  You  caused  my 
faith  to  waver  by  your  strong  argument  that  all  the 
practical  help  I  ever  had  was  human  help — human 
only.  I  have  had  human  help  again  ;  but  I  have 


456  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

come  to  see  that  God  helps  us  and  speaks  to  us 
through  creatures  like  ourselves.  Even  you  will  be 
inclined  to  admit  that  the  fact  that  I  have  received 
personal  counsel  from  General  Washington  is  so 
strange  as  to  be  more  than  chance,  and  yet  it  is 
true."  And  she  told  him  how  it  happened. 

"  In  asking  his  counsel  I  do  not  seek  to  know 
whether  you  mentioned  my  name,"  said  Saville 
gloomily ;  "  for  I  have  not  sought  to  tempt  you  to 
evil." 

"  Believe  me,  Theron,  I  never  gave  him — nor  shall 
I  ever  give  any  one — a  hint  or  clue  of  that  which  is 
between  ourselves  and  our  God.  The  truth  of 
the  Bible  was  the  only  question  on  which  I  needed 
light.  That  settles  all  the  others.  Theron,  it  is 
true  !  I  know  it,  as  I  know  I  exist !  I  am  not  wise 
enough  to  answer  your  arguments  ;  but  I  have  come 
to  that  point  in  which  I  am  not  so  sure  of  anything 
as  that  the  Bible  is  true." 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  fairly  groaned 
in  the  agony  of  his  disappointment. 

"Theron,"  said  Vera,  with  a  burning  blush,  "  you 
could  not  love  such  a  woman  as  you  have  described 
your — your  wife  to  be." 

"Why  stab  me  with  that  word?  "he  cried  pas 
sionately. 

"  Suppose  I  should  become  like  her." 

"  Impossible." 

"  You  do  not  understand  a  woman's  heart.  You 
have  learned  to  love  me  as  a  simple,  childlike  girl, 
innocent  if  ignorant,  gentle  and  loving,  if  not  strong 
and  wise.  Could  you  love  me  if  I  became  a  reck- 


THE  PARTING.  457 

less,  passionate  woman?  Pardon  me  that  I  speak  so 
plainly,  and,  in  this  agony  of  parting,  pass  beyond 
maidenly  reserve  and  delicacy.  But,  since  we  must 
part,  I  wish  you  to  see  the  necessity.  Theron,  )'ou 
are  too  good  a  man  to  love  what  I  would  become  if 
I  should  turn  my  back  on  my  faith,  my  mother's 
dying  words,  and  my  God.  You  know  that  I  have 
been  brought  face  to  face  with  awful  peril,  and  yet 
never  have  I  so  trembled  at  anything  as  I  have  at 
the  dark  abyss  that  seemed  opening  in  my  own 
soul.  At  one  time,  Theron,  I  was  almost  ready  to 
lose  my  soul  for  your  sake,"  she  continued  in  a  low 
tone ;  "  and  were  I  sure  now  that  I  only  would 
suffer,  that  my  remediless  loss  would  be  your  hap 
piness,  I  should  scarcely  dare  trust  myself.  But 
God  in  mercy  has  removed  this  temptation,  and  I 
have  been  shown  that  wrong  on  my  part  would 
eventually  mean  wretchedness  on  yours.  There, 
Theron,  I  have  shown  you  all  my  heart,  and  I  ap 
peal  to  your  own  noble  manhood  to  protect  me." 

"  My  manhood  is  gone.  I  am  utterly  crushed  and 
broken.  Since  to  you  it  is  a  crime  to  keep  my  ring, 
give  it  to  me  and  let  me  go.  I  can  endure  the  tor 
ment  of  my  loss  no  longer." 

"  O  Theron,  Theron  !  "  Vera  sobbed. 

"  If  there  is  no  help  for  it,  give  me  the  ring,  and 
let  me  go  before  I  become  mad." 

Slowly  and  reluctantly  she  drew  off  the  two  rings, 
as  if  the  effort  were  almost  beyond  her  power.  He 
snatched  his  from  her,  and  ground  it  into  the  earth 
under  his  heel. 

She  saw  with  terror  that  he  was  taking  counsel  of 
20 


458 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


despair.  Acting  on  an  impulse  to  save  him  from  him 
self,  she  again  drew  off  her  mother's  ring,  and  seizing  his 
hand,  she  pressed  it,  with  difficulty,  on  his  little  finger. 

"  Theron,"  she  said  pleadingly,  "  if  it  is  wrong,  I 
cannot  help  it ;  but  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart. 
Wear  this  priceless  relic — my  dead  mother's  wed 
ding-ring — as  token  of  my  pledge  that,  since  I  cannot 
marry  you,  I  will  never  marry  any  one  else.  Let  its 
faint  gleam  ever  remind  you  that  if  you  raise  this  hand 
against  yourself,  you  strike  me  a  more  fatal  blow." 

In  answer  to  this  appeal,  his  dry,  darkly  sugges 
tive  eyes  for  the  first  time  moistened,  and  grew 
somewhat  gentle  in  their  expression. 

"  Vera,"  he  said,  pressing  the  ring,  to  his  lips, 
"  you  are  stronger  and  braver  than  I ;  you  have 
more  than  human  fortitude.  Though  I  scarcely 
know  whether  to  thank  you  or  not,  I  believe  your 
words  and  gift  have  again  saved  my  life.  Yout 
promise,  of  which  this  ring  is  the  token,  holds  out 
a  glimmer  of  hope,  and  without  hope  who  can  live  ? 
I  can  trust  myself  here  no  longer." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  one  brief  moment,  then 
dashed  away.  A  little  later  the  sound  of  his  horse's 
feet  echoed  from  the  opposite  hill-side,  but  died 
quickly  in  the  distance. 

It  was  well  for  both  that  he  did  not  see  her  weak 
ness,  her  grief  that  was  almost  as  despairing  as  his 
own,  which  followed  his  departure. 

At  last  she  crept  home  in  the  dusk,  repeating 
over  and  over  again,  as  her  only  comfort, 

"  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord 
pitieth  them  that  fear  Him." 


SEEKING  DEATH.  459 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SEEKING  DEATH. 

A  YEAR  had  almost  passed  since  the  parting 
described  in  the  previous  chapter — a  year 
of  patient  fidelity  to  duty  on  the  part  of  Vera,  a 
year  that  was  clouded  by  the  deepest  melancholy 
and  almost  despair  in  the  case  of  Saville.  For  a 
long  time  he  had  cherished  faint  hopes  that  her  for 
titude  might  fail ;  that  his  arguments,  from  being 
more  fully  dwelt  upon,  would  have  their  weight ; 
and,  chief  of  all,  that  her  loneliness  and  love  might 
overcome  her  resolution.  While  recognizing  the 
truth  that  she  was  acting  conscientiously  and  he 
roically,  he  still  believed  that  the  only  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  their  happiness  was  the  tenacious  hold 
of  her  old  superstitions  upon  her  mind.  The  fact 
that  their  mutual  suffering  seemed  so  unnecessary 
made  him  chafe  all  the  more,  and  his  mind  and 
body  were  giving  evidences  of  the  bitterness  of  the 
long-continued  ordeal.  Perpetual  gloom  lowered 
upon  his  brow ;  at  times,  fits  of  abstraction  almost 
unfitted  him  for  his  duties,  and  again  he  would  be 
reckless  and  inclined  to  dissipation. 

To  his  old  acquaintances,  his  wife's  conduct  ac- 


460  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

counted  for  his  manner  and  actions ;  but  Surgeon 
Jasper  knew  of  the  deeper  wound,  and  was  often 
tempted  to  inform  Vera  of  the  disastrous  results  of 
Saville's  disappointment.  Indeed,  he  would  have 
done  so  had  not  the  young  man  charged  him,  almost 
harshly,  "  not  to  meddle." 

At  first  Saville  had  found  some  solace  in  sending 
Vera,  by  the  hand  of  Tascar,  such  things  as  he 
thought  might  add  to  her  comfort ;  but  she  soon,  in 
a  brief  letter,  gently  but  firmly  declined  to  receive 
his  gifts,  and  entreated  him  to  remember  that  they 
must  accept  their  whole  duty,  and  school  their  hearts 
into  submission. 

But  there  was  this  radical  difference  between 
them :  while  her  suffering  was  the  keener,  because 
of  the  sensitiveness  and  delicacy  of  her  nature,  she 
was  finding  increasing  strength  and  calmness  from 
the  Divine  help  that  is  ever  given  in  answer  to 
prayer. 

He  was  unaided  in  his  struggle,  and,  if  he  still 
believed  that  man  was  a  law  unto  himself,  he  was 
learning  by  bitter  experience  that  he  is  not  sufficient 
in  himself  for  life's  emergencies.  He  had  at  last 
reached  that  desperate  condition  in  which,  though 
still  restrained  by  Vera's  words  and  the  ring  she 
had  given  him  from  any  directly  suicidal  act,  he  was 
only  too  ready  to  throw  away  his  life  by  reckless 
exposure  in  the  first  battle  that  occurred. 

Vera  learned  of  his  growing  despair  and  conse 
quent  dangerous  moods  in  a  rather  peculiar  way. 
In  introducing  Tascar  to  the  secluded  cabin,  Saville 
had  virtually  provided  for  the  household,  for  the 


SEEKING  DEATH.  461 

boy  proved  the  most  ubiquitous,  industrious  per 
sonality  that  ever  taxed  earth,  air,  and  water  for  the 
means  of  livelihood.  He  soon  became  as  accurate  a 
shot  as  Vera  herself,  and  she  had  no  more  occasion 
to  range  the  hills  with  her  gun  save  as  a  pastime. 
His  knowledge  of  the  instincts  and  habits  of  game 
made  escape  from  his  cunningly  prepared  traps  and 
snares  very  improbable.  His  good  luck  as  a  fisher 
man  became  almost  unvarying,  because  he  knew 
just  when  and  where  to  go.  He  enlarged  the  gar 
den  which  he  had  made  the  preceding  year,  and  kept 
it  green  and  flourishing  by  turning  through  it  a 
brook  that  had  its  unfailing  source  deep  in  the  moun 
tains.  He  scoured  the  hills  and  valleys  for  wild 
fruits  in  their  season,  and  these,  with  the  surplus  of 
game,  found  a  ready  sale  at  the  garrison  of  West 
Point. 

Vera  had  thoroughly  adopted  Saville's  plan  of 
perfect  openness,  and  would  permit  nothing  that 
looked  like  guilty  fear  or  desire  for  concealment. 
Thus,  through  her  management  and  Tascar's  able 
seconding,  the  little  cabin  was  becoming  a  recognized 
base  of  supplies  for  several  officers'  messes;  and 
Saville  had  always  been  ready  to  buy  everything  that 
his  quondam  servant  brought,  whether  he  wanted  it 
or  not. 

In  answer  to  her  father's  questions  concerning 
Saville's  long  -  continued  absence,  Vera  had  said 
briefly, 

"  Circumstances  are  such  that  Mr.  Saville  cannot 
marry  me,  and  since  he  cannot,  it  is  best  for  us  both 
that  his  visits  should  cease.  Ask  me  no  further.  Let 


462  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

it  satisfy  you  that  he  has  acted  toward  me  like  an 
honorable  man,  as  he  is,  and  that  he  is  still  a  true 
friend  on  whom  I  can  call  should  I  need  him." 

The  exile  turned  gloomily  away,  satisfied  that 
Saville  at  last  realized  the  folly  of  allying  himself 
to  the  daughter  of  one  whom  he  knew  to  be  a 
criminal ;  but  from  that  time  his  remorseful  pity  and 
tenderness  for  Vera  increased. 

Tascar's  success  as  a  huckster  finally  led  to  his 
acquaintance  with  a  redoubtable  negro  by  the  name 
of  Pompey,  for  whom  the  boy  soon  conceived  a 
strong  friendship,  and  a  boundless  admiration.  Pom- 
'pey  was  ostensibly  following  a  like  calling  ;  but,  in 
supplying  the  British  garrison  at  Stony  Point,  he 
brought  away  shining  coin  for  his  fruits  and  vege 
tables,  instead  of  the  depreciated  Continental  money 
which  was  paid  chiefly  at  West  Point.  This  fact 
alone  gave  the  elder  sable  trader  a  marked  pre-emi 
nence. 

But  one  day  Pompey  took  Tascar  into  the  depth 
of  the  forest,  and,  with  great  mystery  and  solemnity 
informed  him, 

"  You'se  a  peart,  likely  boy,  and  I'se  'bout  to  put 
you  up  a  peg  higher.  I'se  a-gwine  to  let  you  inter  a 
deep  'spiracy." 

"  Where  is  dis  deep  hole,  an'  how  deep'll  I  hab 
ter  go  in  ?"  asked  Tascar,  in  some  trepidation  from 
Pompey's  words  and  manner. 

"  What  a  chile  you  is !  "  said  Pompey  loftily. 
"  'Tain't  a  hole  ;  it's  a  'spiracy  agin  de  Red-coats. 
Does  you  tink  I  goes  down  to  de  Britishers  at  Stony 
P'int  to  hawk  berries  ?  My  mas'r,  Capting  Lamb, 


SEEKING  DEATH. 


463 


doesn't  need  to  sell  berries  ;  I  takes  a  heap  mo*  inter 
de  fort  dan  I  carries  in  my  basket." 

''What  does  you  take?"  asked  Tascar,  agape 
w:th  curiosity. 

"  I  takes  dese  two  eyes.     1  takes  dese  two  ears." 

"  Well,  you  doesn't  sell  'em  ?  " 

"  What  a  chile  you  is  !  I  comes  back  wid  my 
basket  empty,  but  my  head  is  chuck  full,  an'  I  tells 
mas'r  all  I  sees  and  hears,  an'  he  tells  a  'Merican 
ossifer,  an*  soon  Gin'ral  Washington  hisself  knows 
all  /does."  And  at  this  point  Pompey  assumed  an 
air  of  such  mysterious  importance  that  Tascar  was 
deeply  awed. 

"  P'raps  well  take  dat  ar  British  fort.  We're 
a-thinkin'  ob  it,"  continued  Pompey,  half  in  soliloquy. 
"  It  'pends  werry  largely  on  me.  Now  it  isn't 
'comin*  dat  a  man  in  my  'sponsible  'sition  should 
be  out  berryin'  all  de  time.  I'se  got  to  tink  "  (with 
a  suggestive  tap  on  his  forehead)  ;  "  an'  while  I'se 
a-prowidin*  sumfin'  dat  you  doesn't  know  nuffin' 
'bout,  an'  what  is  called  strogedy,  you  can  pick  de 
berries  an'  bring  'em  to  me,  an'  I'll  gib  you  de 
shiners  for  'em.  Your  part  ob  de  'spiracy  is  to  pick 
de  berries  an'  keep  your  mouf  shut,  an'  den  some 
dark  night  you'll  hear  more'n  you  eber  did  in  de 
daytime." 

Though  Tascar's  share  in  the  dark  conspiracy 
against  the  British  garrison  was  rather  humble,  he 
was  more  than  satisfied,  and  was  so  elated  with  his 
secret  and  his  importance  that  old  Gula  asked, 

"What's  de  matter,  chile?  'Pears  like  you'se 
a-bustin'  wid  sumfin'." 


464  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

But  Tascar,  by  a  mighty  effort,  was  able  to  keep 
his  "  mouf  shut." 

Vera  also  asked,  "  How  is  it  you  get  coin  of  late 
for  the  fruit?" 

"  I  gits  it  honest,  Missy  Vera,"  was  all  that  the 
sable  sphinx  would  vouchsafe. 

But  one  July  midnight  he  roused  them  all  by  his 
wild  and  excited  cries. 

"  Dar  !  dar  !  "  he  shouted,  "  Pompey's  goin'  fur 
de  Red-coats.  I'se  in  de  'spiracy,  an'  mus'  go  to 
look  arter  it,"  and  he  started  southward,  in  spite  of 
his  mother's  expostulations. 

The  heavy  jar  of  a  brief  cannonade,  and  the  faint 
reports  of  musketry,  satisfied  Vera  and  her  father 
that  a  battle  was  in  progress.  To  the  maiden  these 
sounds  suggested  danger  to  the  one  ever  present  in 
her  thoughts,  and,  in  the  solemn  night,  they  were 
peculiarly  ominous  and  depressing. 

She  soon  learned  how  profoundly  she  had  reason 
to  dread  such  evidences  of  battle,  for  one  evening,  a 
few  days  after  the  capture  of  Stony  Point,  Tascar 
induced  his  great  luminary,  Pompey,  to  come  and 
beam  on  the  inmates  of  the  cabin  for  an  hour,  and 
to  relate  the  events  of  the  assault,  as  far  as  he  saw 
and  imagined  them.  Tascar  was  peculiarly  eager  to 
bring  about  the  recitation  of  this  epic,  not  only  that 
he  might,  as  one  of  the  "  'spirators,"  reflect  a  few 
rays  of  Pompey's  glory;  but  also  that  his  master 
might  learn  of  an  important  American  success,  and 
that  Vera  might  hear  how  strangely  Saville  had 
acted.  He  introduced  his  friend  as  the  hero  of  the 
occasion,  declaring  excitedly, 


SEEKING  DEATH.  465 

"  Does  you  believe,  Mas'r  Brown,  Pompey  tuk 
our  folks  right  into  de  fort,  an'  cotched  'bout  a 
million  Red-coats?" 

"  Well,"  began  Pompey,  with  a  patronizing  glance 
at  Tascar,  "  I  don't  'spose  dere  was  quite  so  many 
as  dat,  an*  den  you  mus'  know,  Mas'r  Brown,  dat  I 
had  'siderable  help.  From  what  dis  yer  peart  boy 
hab  told  me,  you'se  'ud  like  to  know  how  'twas 
done." 

"  We  would  indeed,"  said  Vera,  welcoming  any 
thing  that  beguiled  her  sad  thoughts  for  an  hour. 
Tascar  had  not  told  her  that  Pompey  had  aught  to 
relate  of  Saville,  for  he  was  magnanimous  enough  to 
detract  in  no  respect  from  the  force  and  freshness  of 
his  friend's  narration.  He  had  hinted  to  Pompey 
that  Mas'r  Brown  would  be  greatly  pleased  to  hear 
any  tidings  of  Saville ;  but,  with  a  little  diplomacy 
of  his  own,  said  nothing  of  Vera's  interest.  He  had 
not  been  a  member  of  a  "  'spiracy  "  for  nothing,  and 
could  keep  other  secrets  than  those  of  Pompey  to 
himself. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Mas'r  an'  Missy  Brown/'  Pompey 
continued,  assuming  a  histrionic  air  and  attitude,  "  it 
all  begin  in  a  'spiracy,  an'  I  was  de  big  'spirator.  Dis 
yer  chile  was  in  de  'spiracy  too  "  (and  he  laid  a  pat 
ronizing  hand  on  Tascar's  head),  "  an'  his  part  was  to 
pick  de  berries  an'  keep  his  mouf  shut.  He's  a 
peart  boy,  an'  a  good  'spirator." 

Tascar,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  delight  at  such 
high  praise,  stood  on  his  head  a  moment,  and  then 
righted  himself  again  in  the  attitude  of  an  intensely 
eager  listener. 
20* 


466  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Pompey  complacently  waited  till  the  boy  was 
through  with  his  demonstration,  as  an  orator  or  ac 
tor  might  yield  a  moment  to  an  outburst  of  ap 
plause,  and  then  proceeded : 

*'  De  'spiracy  rested  on  two  tings :  De  British 
ossifers  like  strawberries,  an'  my  mas'r  an'  Gin'ral 
Washington  liked  ter  know  what  de  Red-coats  was 
up  ter.  I  "  (with  an  air  of  conscious  power)  "  was 
able  to  guv  bof  parties  what  dey  wanted.  I  tuck  de 
berries  inter  de  fort,  an'  I  brought  back  eberyting  I 
seed  an'  heerd,  an'  often  my  head  was  fuller  when  I 
come  out  dan  my  basket  when  I  went  in.  Well,  ter 
git  in  an'  out  I  had  ter  hab  what  dey  call  a  coun- 
tysign — a  sort  ob  sayin'  or  word  dat  is  like  a  key 
dat  unlocks  de  do'.  It's  a  mighty  quar  ting,  de 
countysign  is ;  it  jes'  makes  'em  big  grannydeers 
like  suckin'  lambs,  when,  if  you  habn't  any  county- 
sign,  dey'd  spit  you  on  de  p'int  ob  dare  bayo 
nets. 

"  Well,  I'se  had  allers  carried  de  berries  to  de  Red 
coats  in  de  daytime ;  but  arter  a  while  de  'spiracy 
got  deeper,  and  mas'r  tole  me  dat  Gin'ral  Washing 
ton  wanted  ter  see  if  he  couldn't  took  de  fort  some 
dark  night.  So  I  put  on  a  long  face  de  nex*  time  I 
went,  and  said, 

"  '  Can't  git  here  no  mo'  in  daylight.  Hoein'  corn 
time's  come;  mas'r  can't  spare  me; '  and  dey  said, 
Mus'  hab  our  berries.  You  come  ebenin's,  and 
we'll  let  you  in  and  out ;  for  you'se  an  innercent 
darkey,  and  wouldn't  do  no  more  harm  dan  a  mule.' 
I  said, '  Yes,  mas'rs,  I'se  jes'  as  innercent  as  a  mule/ 
an'  I  tole  de  truf,  for  you  know,  Mas'r  Brown 


SEEKING  DEATH.  467 

you    neber   can   tell  when    a   mule   is   a-gwine   to 
kick  up. 

"  Well,  I  tuck  de  berries  in  at  night,  an*  all  went 
sraroth  as  ile  a  few  days,  an*  de  countysign  let  me 
in  an'  out  in  de  dark  jes'  as  well  as  in  de  light.  On 
de  fourteenth  ob  de  month  my  mas'r  said,  '  Pom- 
pey,  you'se  got  a  long  head.  We  don't  want  a  dorg 
nowhar  near  Stony  P'int,  kase  dey  might  bark  de 
wrong  time,  you  know.  Can  you  fix  'em  so  dey 
won't  bark  tomorrow  night  ? '  an'  den  he  wink  one 
eye  jes'  dis  way. 

"  Den  I  knew  de  'spiracy  was  a-gittin'  deeper  yit, 
an'  takin'  ill  de  dorgs.  Wheneber  dey  wanted  some 
strogedy  dey  allers  come  to  me,  an'  dey  knowed  dat 
de  only  way  dey  could  eber  git  aroun'  dem  ar  dorgs 
was  by  strogedy.  I  tink  po'ful  strong  a  few  min 
utes,  an'  den  I  said,  (  Mas'r  Lamb,  jes'  leave  dem 
dorgs  to  me.  If  any  ob  'em  barks  to-morrow  night, 
den  dorgs  hab  ghosts  jes'  as  much  as  oder  folks.' 
Dat  night  I  tuck  down  de  berries  in  one  basket  an' 
sumfin  for  de  dorgs  in  anoder.  Whar  I  knowed 
people  lived  dat  thought  mo'  ob  dare  dorgs  dan  ob 
de  country  I  jes'  drapped  a  chunk  ob  seasoned  meat, 
an'  watched  till  I  seed  it  tucked  away  whar  it  would 
be  werry  quietin'.  To  de  true-blue  Whigs  I  says, 
'Gin'ral  Washington  doesn't  want  no  dorgs  barkin' 
ter-rr.orrow  night.'  Den  I  winked  jes'  as  mas'r  did 
an'  dat  was  enuff. 

"  I'se  been  'tickler  in  'latin'  dese  parts,  kase  here's 
whar  de  strogedy  comes  in,  an'  it  all  'pended  on 
strogedy.  Anybody  kin  fight  an'  git  knocked  on 
de  head,  but  in  dis  case  eberybody,  even  Gin'ral 


468  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Washington,  had  to  wait  till  I'd  done  up  de 
strogedy. 

"  Well,  de  fifteenth  come,  an'  it  was  a  big  day 
an'  a  bigger  night.  You  heerd  de  guns,  but  dare 
had  ter  be  a  po'ful  lot  ob  strogedy  afore  dey  was 
fired,  an'  all  de  great  gin'rals  an'  kunnels  an'  cap- 
tings  foun'  dat  dey  couldn't  git  on  widout  Pompey. 
Gin'ral  Wayne,  de  one  dey  call  '  Mad  Anterny,' 
was  at  de  head  ob  it  all,  an'  he  'rived  sumfin  less 
dan  two  mile  below  de  P'int  arter  dark,  an'  he  had 
quite  a  lot  ob  Continentals  wid  him,  not  so  wery 
many,  dough,  for  he  was  'pendin'  on  my  strogedy 
more'n  hard  fightin'. 

"  Gin'ral  Wayne  stopped  his  men  out  ob  sight, 
an'  was  jes'  a-startin'  wid  a  lot  ob  his  bigossifersto 
take  a  squint  at  de  Britishers  an'  de  kaseway 
leadin'  to  de  fort,  when  we  heerd  a  hos  comin'  as 
if  de  debbil  was  arter  him,  an'  some  'un  dashed  up 
like  mad.  '  Why,  Saville,'  said  Gin'ral  Wayne,  '  how 
in  de  name  ob  wonder  did  you  git  here?'  'I  jes' 
heerd  what  was  on  foot,  an*  I  stole  away  to  jine 
de  'spedition  as  a  wolunteer.'  '  Kunnel  De  Fleury 
says  you're  mo*  reckless  dan  I  is,'  said  de  gin'ral, 
*  an*  it  won't  do  ter  hab  too  many  hot  heads  in  dis 
ticklish  bizness ;  so  I'll  put  you  in  charge  ob  de  kun- 
nel,  and  you  must  keep  back  and  'bey  orders.'  '  I 
promise,  gin'ral,  to  keep  back,'  said  de  one  dey  call 
Saville,  '  'till  you  say  de  fust  man  dat  gits  to  de 
center  ob  de  fort  is  de  best  man,'  and  den  dey  let 
him  go." 

Vera  had  been  listening  with  a  half  smile  upon 
her  face,  for  she  could  not  help  being  amused  by  the 


SEEKING  DEATH. 


469 


negro's  droll  manner  and  boundless  egotism  ;  but,  at 
the  mention  of  Saville's  name,  she  became  deathly 
pate  and  very  faint  ;•  by  great  effort,  however,  she 
controlled  herself  sufficiently  not  to  interrupt  the 
narrative. 

"  Now,  you  mus'  know,  Mas'r  Brown,  dat  de  Brit 
ishers  was  a  little  careless,  kase  dey  said  de  'sition 
ob  de  fort  was  so  po'ful  strong  dat  de  rebs 
couldn't  tuck  it;  an'  no  mo' dey  couldn't,  widout 
strogedy,  an*  dat  was  de  reason  dey  wanted  me  all 
de  time.  De  fort  is  on  a  great,  high,  rocky  hill,  an' 
de  water  ob  de  ribber  comes  all  aroun'  in  front  ob  it, 
an'  to'rd  de  land  dere's  wide,  nasty  mash,  whar  de 
mud  is  deeper  nor  de  water,  an'  you'd  go  down  inter 
it  kerchunk  !  right  ober  yer  head.  Stony  P'int's  a 
kind  ob  island,  an*  de  only  way  to  git  dare  is  by  a 
long,  narrow  kaseway,  whar  my  ole  missus,  wid  a 
broomstick,  could  keep  back  a  reg'ment.  We  could 
only  git  across  dat  ar  place  by  strogedy,  an'  so  dey 
all  was  a-'pendin'  on  me. 

"  Well,  Gin'ral  Wayne  an'  Kunnel  De  Fleury,  an* 
him  dey  call  Capting  Saville,  look  all  aroun'  as  near 
as  dey  could  an'  not  be  seen,  an'  all  was  still.  De 
dorgs  was  wery  quiet,  an*  dey  seed  dat  I  had  fixed 
eberyting  jes'  right. 

"  About  de  middle  ob  de  night  all  de  sogers 
started,  an'  I  goes  on  ahead  wid  de  gin'ral  an'  all  de 
big  men,  kase  I  had  de  countysign,  an*  was  to 
keep  on  doin'  de  'portant  part  ob  de  strogedy.  I 
had  to  hab  de  help  now  ob  two  oder  'spirators ;  so 
dey  had  two  big  men  fixed  up  like  ole  farmers,  an' 
dey  was  to  go  along  wid  me.  When  de  sogers  got 


470  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

near  de  fort,  de  gin'ral  stopped  dem  agin,  an'  he 
sent  me  an'  de  ole  farmers  on  ahead,  while  he  an' 
some  ossifers  follered  slow  like.  Capting  Saville 
wanted  to  go  wid  me,  but  de  gin'ral  called  him  back. 

"  Well,  I  had  my  basket  ob  berries  jes'  de  same 
as  eber — Tascar  here  pick  'em  fer  me — an'  de  ole 
farmers  was  each  a-carryin'  a  sheep ;  an'  so  we 
trudged  along  up  to  de  fust  sentinel,  as  innercent  as 
mules,  sure  'nuff.  De  man  knowed  me,  and  had  let 
me  by  often  afore ;  so  I  steps  up  to  him  to  guv  de 
countysign,  which  was  '  De  fort  is  our  own,'  an'  de  ole 
farmers  follered  close  on  my  heels.  While  I  was 
a-whisperin'  de  countysign  an'  a-talkin',  dey  was  to 
carry  out  de  rest  ob  de  strogedy. 

"  '  De  fort's  our  own,'  says  I  to  de  Britisher.  '  Cor 
rect,  hand  hit'll  stay  hour  hown,'  says  de  Red-coat. 
'You  doesn't  tink  I'm  a-gwine  to  take  it  away  in 
my  basket,  ter-night,  does  yer  ?  '  '  What  hab  you  hin 
de  basket?'  says  he.  'Help  yerself,'  says  I,  an' 
while  he  was  a-fumblin'  about  the  basket,  the  two 
old  farmers  jump  on  him  an'  tuck  away  his  muskit 
an'  stopped  his  mouf  so  tight  he  couldn't  git  no 
berries  in  nor  no  sound  out.  Down  by  de  kaseway 
dere  was  anoder  sent'nel,  but  we  come  de  strogedy 
on  him,  de  same  way. 

"  But  de  tide  was  so  high  dat  even  de  kaseway 
was  kivered  wid  water,  an'  strogedy  couldn't  help 
dat,  an'  so  dey  all  had  ter  wait  till  de  tide  lowered. 
But  Capting  Saville  wouldn't  wait,  and  was  a-gwine 
to  feel  his  way  ober  through  de  water  when  de  gin'ral 
call  him  back  agin.  Po'ful  brave  man,  dat  Capting 
Saville,  but  no  good  at  strogedy. 


SEEKING  DEATH.  471 

"  At  last  we  all  got  ober,  sabe  a  big  lot  ob  men 
dat  was  to  stay  on  dis  side  for  a  resarve,  dey  said. 
De  gin'ral  tole  me  dat  I  needn't  go  no  furder ;  but  I 
telled  him  dat  I'd  done  my  part,  an  'bout  de  same  as 
guv  him  de  fort,  and  now  I'se  was  a-gwine  along  wid 
him  and  see  how  he  did  his  part.  He  larfed  and  says, 
*  Pompey,  p'raps  you  is  de  biggest  gen'ralob  de  two.' 

"  Well,  he  d'wides  de  sogers  into  two  big  parties, 
and  he  tucks  one  and  Kunnel  De  Fleury  de  oder, 
and  he  sent  ahead  ob  each  party  an  ossifer  wid 
twenty  men,  who  was  to  cut  away  what  dey  call  de 
'batis,  or  a  strong,  scragly  fence  ob  tree-tops,  all 
sharpened  and  stuck  in  front  ob  de  fort.  Dare  was 
two  thick  rows  ob  dese,  an'  I  pitied  dem  po'  fellers 
who  had  ter  go  terwood-choppin',  while  de  Red-coats 
was  a-cuttin'  dem  up.  Dey  called  dese  twenty  men 
ahead  ob  each  party  de  'lorn  hope.'  Who  should 
jine  one  ob  dese  'lorn  hopes  but  Capting  Saville. 
'  Come  back,'  says  Kunnel  De  Fleury ;  '  Come  back, 
says  Gin'ral  Wayne;  'you'se  no  bizness  dar.'  '  I'll 
'bey  de  lieutenant  in  command,  and  will  disconsort 
no  un,'  says  Saville,  an'  away  he  goes  up  de  steep 
hill  wid  de  'lorn  hope. 

"  I  wanted  ter  see  it  out ;  but  I  wasn't  'sessed,  like 
Capting  Saville,  ter  get  knocked  on  de  head  ;  so  I 
crep*  around  one  side,  away  from  bof  de  parties,  kase 
I  knowed  de  Red-coats  wouldn't  firewharno  one  in 
'tickler  was  comin'  agin'  'em,  an'  I  could  see  by  de 
flashes  how  tings  was  goin'.  Gittin'  'round  in  a  safe 
place,  while  oders  was  bein'  cracked  on  de  head,  was 
de  difference  between  havin'  strogedy  an'  not  havin 
strogedy." 


472 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


uBut  Captain  Saville,"  cried  Vera,  seizing  his 
arm  ;  "  what  became  of  him  ?  " 

The  sharp  interruption,  and  Vera's  bloodless,  ago 
nized  face,  checked  Pompey's  historic  flow  of  thought, 
and  suggested  a  new  and  quite  distinct  idea  to 
him. 

"  Law  sakes,  missy,"  he  began,  "  I  didn't  know 
you  cared  in  'tickler  'bout  him.  Tascar,  you  orter — " 

"  Speak,  man  !  "  she  said,  with  an  importunity 
that  was  almost  fierce.  "  Was  Captain  Saville 
wounded  ?  was  he —  O  God !  I  cannot  utter  that 
word  !  " 

"  Missy  Vera,  Capting  Saville's  safe  at  West 
Point.  I  seed  him  yesterday.  He  wasn't  hurt, 
dough  it  'pears  like  as  if  he  tried  to  be,"  said  Tas 
car  hastily. 

"  Ah  !  thank  God  !  another  awful  danger  is  past. 
Please  hasten  your  story,  for  I  cannot  bear  to  hear 
of  these  awful  scenes." 

"  I'se  near  through,  missy,  for  what  happened 
arter  whar  I  lef '  off  all  seemed  to  be  in  a  minute. 
Our  folks  went  up  de  hill  as  still  like  as  if  dey  was 
ghosts.  On  a  sudden  dey  come  on  de  Red-coats,  an' 
dey  fired  on  our  men,  but  no  flashes  came  from  our 
side.  I  was  tole  dat  dare  wasn't  a  loaded  musket 
'mong  de  'Mericans,  an'  I  tinks  it  was  so ;  for  dey 
jes'  put  dere  bay'nets  in  front  an'  run  for'ud  like 
mad.  In  a  minute  de  'lorn  hope  nex*  me  was  cut- 
tin'  away  de  'batis,  or  big,  ugly  fence.  De  place 
dat  was  so  still  as  if  dey  was  all  sleepin'  became 
full  of  drefful  sounds.  De  drums  beat  de  long  roll, 
de  ossifers  was  a-shoutin'  *  To  arms  !  to  arms  ! '  de 


SEEKING  DEATH. 


473 


cannons  began  to  beller,  and  dey  filled  dem  wid 
grape-shot,  an'  all  de  Britishers  was  a-firin'  dare  mus 
kets  fas'  as  dey  could  load.  It  'peared  to  me  dat  ebery 
un  ob  our  folks  would  be  killed  twice  ober.  A 
minute  later  I  seed  Capting  Saville,  by  de  light  ob 
a  big  flash,  jump  on  an'  ober  de  'batis,  a-cuttin'  an* 
a-slashin'  wid  his  sword.  Away  went  a  crowd  ob 
our  sogers  arter  him.  In  less  time  dan  I  kin  tell 
you  our  two  parties  come  togedder,  kerslap,  right  in 
de  middle  ob  de  fort.  Dey  hauled  down  de  flag; 
dey  stuck  ebery  'un  dat  was  oncivil —  Well,  Mas'r 
Brown,  ter  make  a  long  story  short,  dey  jes'  picked 
up,  on  de  p'ints  ob  dare  bay'nets,  de  fort  dat  I 
had  already  got  for  'em  by  my  strogedy.  But, 
Missy  Vera,  if  Capting  Saville  is  a  friend  ob 
your'n,  you  orter  look  arter  him,  kase  he  can't,  do 
what  he  did  dat  ar  night  twice,  strogedy  or  no 
strogedy." 

Vera  fled  to  her  room. 

Her  father  looked  after  her  with  an  expression  of 
deep  commiseration,  and  having  dismissed  Pompey 
with  a  few  words  of  thanks,  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
strode  away  into  the  forest,  muttering, 

"  The  curse  resting  on  me  will  crush  her  also,  and 
seems  to  be  falling  on  Saville.  His  pride  will  not 
permit  him  to  marry  the  daughter  of  such  a  wretch 
as  I  am,  and  yet  his  thwarted  love  makes  life  a  bur 
den  that  he  would  gladly  be  rid  of.  Oh  !  the  malign 
power  of  one  evil  deed !  Who  can  tell  when  and 
where  its  .deadly  influence  will  cease?  I  have  de 
stroyed  myself;  I  am  destroying  Vera  and  Saville; 
my  crime  dug  poor  Esther's  early  grave.  How 


474  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

many  others  shall  I    blight   before  the  curse  dies 
out  ?     Would  to  God  I  had  never  been  born  !  " 

NOTE. — A  shrewd  negro  slave,  by  the  name  of  Pompey,  obtained 
the  countersign,  and  guided  the  American  forces  to  the  causeway 
leading  to  Stony  Point,  in  the  manner  described  in  the  foregoing 
chapter.  He  belonged  to  Captain  Lamb,  a  staunch  Whig  who  re 
sided  in  the  neighborhood. 


SEEKING  LIFE.  475 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

SEEKING    LIFE. 

ON  reaching  the  seclusion  of  her  own  little  closet, 
Vera  did  not  give  way  to  helpless  grief.  She 
recognized  the  necessity  of  prompt  action.  Saville 
must  again  feel  her  strong  yet  gentle  grasp,  or  he 
might  be  lost  to  her  and  to  himself.  Another  battle 
would  soon  occur,  and  another  opportunity  for  the 
carrying  out  of  his  dreadful  purpose.  He  must  be 
shown  at  once  that  such  reckless  exposure  was  a 
virtual  violation  of  his  promise  of  which  her  mother's 
ring  was  the  token.  She  resolved  to  write  to  him 
and  appeal  to  all  the  noble,  generous  traits  which 
she  knew  he  possessed,  and  to  chide  him  for  the  un 
manly  weakness  which  he  was  now  displaying.  She 
even  determined  to  risk  the  loss  of  her  dearest 
treasure,  Washington's  Bible,  in  the  hope  that  he 
would  read  it,  and  be  led  by  its  teachings  to  doubt 
the  skepticism  which  had  so  little  power  to  sustain  and 
comfort.  Thus,  she  was  a  sleepless  watcher  through 
the  night,  often  writing  earnestly  and  rapidly,  and 
again  thinking  long  and  deeply  between  the  sentences 
of  the  following  letter: 

'  Theron,  my  more  than  brother,  have  I  lost  my 


4/6 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


influence  over  you  ?  The  fear  that  I  have  adds 
greatly  to  a  burden  that  is  already  too  heavy.  Your 
influence  over  me  loses  none  of  its  power.  It  would 
be  hard  for  me  to  say  when  the  thought  of  you  is 
absent  from  my  mind.  The  greatest  sacrifice  you 
could  ask  would  be  a  joy  did  not  conscience  forbid. 
Theron,  I  am  trying  very  hard  to  do  right.  There 
are  many  days  in  which  I  can  only  cling  desperately 
to  God's  hand;  but  He  has  sustained  me  in  a  manner 
so  wonderful  that  my  confidence  in  Him,  not  myself, 
is  continually  increasing.  He  is  very  gentle  and 
patient  with  me  also,  for  He  knows  I  am  a  '  bruised 
reed.' 

"  But,  Theron,  even  with  God's  compassionate  help, 
you  are  making  my  burden  heavier  than  I  can  bear. 
You  know  well  that  in  my  shadowed  life  I  have  be 
come  acquainted  with  suffering,  and  yet  never  before 
have  I  endured  such  agony  as  pierced  my  heart  to 
day.  You  are  the  cause.  Theron,  in  every  unordered, 
uncalled-for,  reckless  step  you  took,  in  the  attack  on 
Stony  Point,  you  trod  upon  my  heart.  When  you 
are  called  upon  to  face  danger  by  just  authority,  do 
your  duty,  and  your  whole  duty,  as  I  am  asking  God 
to  help  me  do  mine,  in  the  face  of  a  temptation 
that  assails  me  relentlessly  and  almost  continuously. 
I  say  this  much,  though  well  aware  that  if  you  receive 
wounds,  I  shall  be  more  sorely  wounded,  and  that 
if  you  are  killed,  it  will  be  worse  than  death  to  me. 
But,  did  duty  compel  you  to  take  part  in  that  des 
perate  midnight  assault?  Was  it  love  of  country 
that  thrust  you  forward  beyond  the  bravest  who 
were  acting  under  orders  ?  When  I  pained  and 


SEEKING  LIFE.  477 

disappointed  you,  I  did  so  under  a  compulsion  the 
strongest  and  most  sacred  that  the  human  soul  can 
recognize.  Was  your  motive  in  seeking  death,  that 
awful  night,  noble  and  sacred?  Theron,  it  was  the 
first  cowardly  act  I  ever  knew  you  to  commit,  and  it 
was  an  act  so  cruel  as  to  be  utterly  unlike  you.  It 
was  an  unmanly  effort  to  escape  from  a  burden  which 
I,  in  case  you  had  accomplished  your  purpose,  would 
have  had  to  bear  alone,  and  which  was  made  infinitely 
greater  by  your  act.  Granting  that  your  belief  is 
true,  and  that  death  is  dreamless  sleep,  can  you  long 
for  a  rest  which  means  unspeakable  agony  for  me? 
I  do  not  say  it  boastingly,  but  from  the  depths  of 
my  heart,  I  could  welcome  pain,  loss,  disaster,  any 
thing  save  sin,  which  would  bring  you  rest.  You 
should  be  stronger  and  braver  than  I.  Why  are  you 
not  ?  Theron,  there  must  be  something  wrong  in 
your  philosophy  when  a  man  naturally  as  noble  and 
good  as  you  are  sinks,  fails,  and  is  overborne ;  and 
if  your  philosophy  cannot  sustain  one  peculiarly 
strong  and  favored  like  yourself,  of  what  use  would 
it  be  to  average  humanity?  How  utterly  it  would 
fail  the  weak  and  tempted  !  But  my  faith  in  God 
sustains  even  me  in  as  sore  a  stress,  I  think,  as  ever 
a  woman  was  called  to  endure.  It  sustained  my 
dear  mother,  and  you  know  how  sad  her  lot  was  in  so 
many  respects.  If  your  creed  cannot  make  a  strong, 
noble  man  like  yourself  brave  and  patient,  it  is  so 
poor  that  I  am  sure  it  is  unfounded. 

"  Theron,  I  know  you  honestly  think  you  are 
right,  but  are  you  sure  you  have  full  reason  to  think 
so?  Pardon  me  if  I,  in  love  and  sympathy,  touch 


478 


NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART, 


for  a  moment  on  your  past  experience.  You  once 
believed  that  the  woman  who  is  your  wife  was 
worthy  of  your  affection.  You  assumed  that  she 
was,  and  acted  honestly  and  naturally  in  view  of 
your  belief.  If  you  had  studied  her  character  care 
fully  and  patiently,  you  would  have  found  that  you 
were  mistaken.  Forgive  me  for  saying  it,  Theron ; 
but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  any  view,  creed,  or 
philosophy  which  can  permit  you  to  make  a  cow 
ardly  flight  from  life's  burden,  from  the  duties  you 
owe  to  your  mother  and  country,  is  equally  un 
worthy  of  respect.  We  are  now,  as  it  were,  meet 
ing  the  same  cruel  misfortune  side  by  side.  Will 
you  run  away  and  leave  me  to  suffer  it  all  alone  ? 

"  I  have  a  favor  to  ask.  Your  response  will  show 
whether  I  have  still  any  influence  over  you,  and 
whether  you  will  do  a  comparatively  little  thing  for 
one  who  will  do  for  you  everything  in  her  power 
save  that  which  is  wrong.  I  listened  patiently  to 
all  your  arguments,  and  I  tried  very  hard  to  believe 
them.  Oh!  how  I  wished  that  I  could  think  as  you 
did;  but  I  had  known  and  seen  the  power  of  God's 
living  truth,  and  it  was  impossible.  Will  you  in 
fairness  honestly  consider  the  grounds  of  my  faith  ? 
As  a  proof  of  my  all-absorbing  interest  in  you,  I 
send  the  dearest  thing  I  have,  Washington's  Bible, 
with  the  one  request  that  you  read  it  through, 
patiently  and  thoughtfully,  and  that  you  dwell 
especially  on  the  New  Testament.  I  suppose  that 
there  are  wise  men  who  could  argue  with  you  and 
tell  you  something  about  the  Bible,  how  it  was 
written,  and  why  people  think  it  is  God's  Word ; 


SEEKING  LIFE.  479 

but  I  do  not  ask  you  to  seek  them.  I  only  ask  that 
you  sit  down  by  yourself,  and,  putting  aside  all 
prejudice,  that  you  read  this  Bible  with  the  candor 
and  sincerity  which  have  always  been  among  your 
noblest  traits.  I  feel  sure  the  book  will  make  its 
own  impression,  and  contain  all  the  arguments  that 
are  needed.  I  leave  the  issue  with  God,  to  whom  I 
pray  in  your  behalf  more  often  than  in  my  own.  I 
hope  my  pencilings  here  and  there  will  not  mar  the 
pages  for  you. 

"Theron,  is  my  mother's  ring  still  on  your  finger  ? 
It  means  now  all  that  it  did  when  I  placed  it  there. 
But  you  made  a  promise  then  as  truly  as  I  did. 
Do  not  keep  its  letter  but  break  its  spirit.  Farewell. 

"  VERA." 

Early  the  next  morning  she  summoned  Tascar, 
and  giving  him  the  letter  and  package  containing 
the  book,  said,  with  a  decision  which  he  could  not 
fail  to  understand, 

"  Find  Mr.  Saville,  and  give  him  these  as  soon  as 
possible.  Mark  my  words,  Tascar,  find  him  ;  go  to 
him  wherever  he  is,  and  give  this  letter  and  book  into 
his  own  hands  ;  remember,  his  own  hands.  There  is 
money.  If  need  be,  travel  days  and  weeks  till  you 
find  him.  I  must  take  no  risks  in  this  matter. 
Wait  for  his  answer." 

Having  done  her  part,  Vera  was  able,  more  calmly 
and  trustingly,  to  leave  the  result  in  God's  hands. 

Tascar  reached  West  Point  at  about  noon,  and 
found  Saville  in  his  quarters.  His  gloomy  face 
lighted  up  as  he  saw  the  boy. 


480  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

"  Missy  Vera  tole  me  to  give  you  dese,  an'  wait 
for  an  answer." 

Saville  eagerly  took  the  missive  and  package,  and 
shutting  himself  up  in  a  small  room  back  of  the 
main  one,  opened  the  letter  with  a  hand  that  now 
trembled  as  it  never  had  in  the  shock  of  battle.  He 
soon  reappeared  with  a  note  in  his  hand,  and  said 
to  Tascar,  who  had  zealously  complied  with  the  re 
quest  that  he  should  eat  the  untasted  dinner  on  the 
table, 

"Take  this  to  your  mistress,  and  come  to  me  again 
in  a  week,  for  I  shall  have  something  to  send  to  her." 

"  Did  you  find  him  ?  "  asked  Vera,  surprised  at 
his  speedy  return. 

"  Yes,  Missy  Vera,  an*  here  is  what  he  guv  me." 

Vera  hastened  to  her  room,  tore  open  the  note, 
and,  with  tears  of  joy,  read  as  follows : 

"  My  loyal  Vera,  I  have  read  your  letter,  and 
am  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  self-contempt. 
How  strong  you  are  !  How  weak  I  have  been  !  If 
I  am  not  a  man  after  this,  let  even  my  memory  perish. 
I  now  promise  you  to  keep  the  spirit  of  my  pledge. 
If  anything  happens  to  me,  it  will  be  in  the  perform 
ance  of  what  you  ever  would  esteem — duty.  And, 
Vera,  I  will  even  read  the  book  which  has  broken 
my  heart  and  blighted  my  life,  in  separating  you 
from  me.  I  cannot  now  trust  myself  to  say  any 
thing  more.  You  are  as  much  above  and  beyond 
me  as  your  fancied  heaven  is  above  the  earth. 
"  Yours,  to  command  henceforth, 

"  SAVILLE." 


SEEKING  LIFE. 

The  long,  dark  night  was  passing,  and  Vera  saw 
in  these  few  words  the  faint  dawning  of  hope. 

Did  her  pencilings  mar  the  pages  of  the  little 
Bible?  Saville,  on  his  return  to  his  quarters  that 
evening,  turned  at  first  only  to  such  pages,  and  to 
the  words  indicated,  which  were  thus  made  to  seem 
as  if  spoken  directly  to  him  by  the  maiden. 

One  text  struck  him  with  peculiar  force,  in  the 
circumstances.  It  was  heavily  marked,  and  Vera 
had  written  under  it,  "  May  not  this  be  true?"  It 
was,  "  There  is  a  way  which  seemeth  right  unto 
a  man,  but  the  end  thereof  are  the  ways  of  death." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  I  am  mistaken  ?  "  he  asked 
himself  for  the  first  time.  "  At  any  rate,  I  shall  be 
more  bigoted  than  the  bigots  themselves  if  I  do  not 
accede  to  Vera's  request,  and  give  her  side  a  careful, 
unprejudiced  hearing." 

Saville  was  too  honest  a  man  to  bestow  on  Wash 
ington's  Bible  a  careless,  hasty  perusal ;  and  he  was 
too  large-natured  and  fair  to  read  it  with  his  mind 
steeled  against  its  truth  by  dislike,  contempt,  or  the 
pride  of  preconceived  opinion.  It  was  his  sincere 
intention  to  be  receptive,  judicial,  and  let  the  book 
speak  for  itself,  according  to  its  capability. 

Some  things  in  Vera's  letter  strongly  tended  to  pro 
mote  a  condition  of  mind  favorable  to  the  reception 
of  the  truth.  Her  reference  to  the  blindness  which 
he  had  shown,  at  first,  to  the  character  of  his  wife, 
made  him  wince,  but  the  effect  was  wholesome.  He 
certainly  had  been  mistaken  then  in  a  matter  of 
vital  importance,  and  how  disastrous  had  been  the 
consequences ! 

21 


482  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S   HEART. 

11  If  Vera  is  right,  and  this  book  is  true  ;  if  I  am 
mistaken  again,"  he  thought,  "  the  evil  will  be  with 
out  remedy.  If  death  is  not  a  dreamless  sleep,  but 
rather  an  eternal,  waking  consciousness  of  all  that 
one  has  lost ;  if  there  is  the  faintest  possibility  of 
this,  I  had  better  consider  it  at  once." 

He  moreover  felt  that  he  had  justified  Vera's  con 
tempt  for  his  philosophy.  What  had  it  done  for 
him,  save  to  prompt  to  unmanly,  cowardly  action  ? 
Her  faith,  in  contrast,  had  sustained  her  in  patient, 
heroic  endurance.  He  was  humbled,  and  truth  is 
ever  ready  to  be  the  guest  of  humility. 

It  does  not  come  within  the  scope  of  this  story  to 
follow  closely  his  mental  changes  during  the  days 
and  weeks  that  followed.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
the  grasp  of  the  Divine  mind  upon  his  grew  contin 
ually  more  masterful  and  firm.  The  Bible,  as  Vera 
said,  did  prove  itself,  as  it  ever  does  to  the  candid 
reader  ;  as  it  ever  does  to  those  who  are  not  absorbed 
in  their  own  little  'isms,  or  befogged  by  their  own 
pet  theories,  or  intrenched  in  opinions  already 
formed.  Few  of  the  Bible's  Qpponents  have  ever 
followed  the  example  of  Saville,  for  he  permitted 
the  book  to  do  all  it  could  with  him. 

"  My  reason,"  he  often  resolved,  "  shall  be  like  a 
judge  upon  the  bench,  and  neither  pride,  prejudice, 
my  wishes,  nor  an  unfair  hearing,  shall  bribe  or  dis 
pose  it  to  a  false  decision." 

As  he  read  and  carefully  re-read  the  book,  and  at 
last  was  able  to  grasp,  to  some  extent,  its  scope  and 
meaning  ;  as  he  discovered  its  wonderful  unity  in 
the  seeming  diversity ;  as  he  saw  that  the  verbal 


SEEKING  LIFE.  483 

hlisk  in  the  early  parts  of  the  Old  Testament  had  a 
kernel  of  rich,  spiritual  meaning,  and  that  the  New 
Testament  clearly  taught  a  philosophy  too  lofty 
for  a  merely  human  origin,  he  gradually  became 
convinced  that  there  was  a  God,  and  that  the  Bible 
was  His  guiding  word  to  His  earthly  children.  The 
"  Man  of  Sorrows  "  fascinated  him  with  irresistible 
power,  and  he  followed  Him  in  all  His  patient  jour 
neying  through  Palestine,  wondering,  fearing,  hop 
ing,  but  unhealed. 

With  the  conviction  of  the  Bible's  truth,  a  dis 
tress  of  mind,  such  as  he  had  never  known  before, 
began  to  develop  itself.  Row  must  the  all-power 
ful  and  holy  God  regard  him,  who  had  so  arro 
gantly,  and  with  so  little  proof  and  reason,  assumed 
that  His  Word  was  a  myth,  and  Himself  a  fiction  of 
the  superstitious?  And  when  he  thought  how  he 
had  tempted  Vera,  and  caused  her  to  waver  in  her 
faith,  he  was  ready  to  despair. 

"What  have  I  learned  from  the  Bible?"  he  ex 
claimed  one  day,  in  agony,  "  save  that  I  am  justly 
and  irretrievably  lost.  I  now  know  what  poor, 
tempted  Vera  meant  when  she  trembled  at  the 
words,  '  A  certain  fearful  looking  for  of  judg 
ment.'  " 

As  early  as  possible,  after  receiving  the  Bible 
Vera  had  sent  him,  Saville  had  procured  another, 
which  he  sent  out  to  her  byTascar,  as  he  had  prom 
ised.  While  Vera  welcomed  this  gift  as  a  proof 
that  he  was  relenting  in  his  bitter  hostility  to  the 
book,  she  was  left  in  ignorance  of  the  radical 
changes  taking  place  in  his  mind.  Saville  did  not 


484  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

wish  to  commit  himself  until  fully  convinced.  But 
when,  after  intellectual  conviction,  he  commenced 
drawing  practical  inferences  from  its  truth,  and  saw 
the  fate  which  threatened  him  ;  when  his  awakened 
and  instructed  conscience  revealed  to  him  that  the 
penalty  of  sin  is  not  arbitrary  and  externally  im 
posed,  but  inevitable  and  natural,  in  the  one  sinning, 
from  the  very  law  and  principle  of  creation  ;  the 
man  was  overwhelmed  with  rational  fear.  The  dark 
question,  which  all  the  penances  of  the  Romish 
Church,  and  the  cruelties  of  superstition,  have  vainly 
tried  to  answer,  rose  for  his  personal  solution,  How 
shall  I  be  rid  of  my  sin  ?* 

Only  the  flippant  and  shallow-minded  make  light 
of  this  question,  and  they  but  for  a  brief  time.  The 
student  of  history  and  humanity  knows  that  it  has 
been  the  burden  of  the  heart  among  all  races  and  in 
every  age;  and  that  to-day  men  are  inflicting  upon 
themselves  inconceivable  suffering  in  the  vain  hope 
of  answering  it. 

Saville  had  learned  from  the  Bible  only  part  of  the 
truth.  He  saw  what  evil  wa»  and  what  it  involved  ; 
but  he  had  not  yet  discovered  the  remedy,  which 
is  usually  overlooked  at  first-,  from  its  very  simpli 
city. 

His  despairing  self-condemnation  became  so  great 
that  he  determined  to  write  to  Vera,  and  see  if  she 
could  not  give  him  some  clue  of  hope.  So,  one 
day,  several  weeks  after  the  time  he  had  com 
menced  reading  the  Bible,  at  her  request,  he  wrote 
the  following  brief  letter,  knowing  that  he  would 
soon  have  an  opportunity  of  sending  it  out  to  the 


SEEKING  LIFE. 


485 


cabin    by    Tascar,   who   was    often    down   to    the* 
garrison. 

"  My  faithful  Vera,  I  fear  the  gift  of  the  Bible, 
which  cost  you  so  much  to  send,  but  which  I  tried 
to  make  good  by  sending  another,  has  been  but  of 
little  service  to  me.  Will  you  be  full  of  joy  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  believe  it  to  be  the  true  Word  of 
the  all-powerful  God?  Can  you  be,  when  you  re 
member  the  doom  which  this  Bible  pronounces  on 
me  who  so  long  scoffed  at  it,  and  (what  is  far  worse 
to  me)  who  tempted  you  ?  I  am  no  longer  in  the 
darkness  of  unbelief,  but  stand  in  the  searching,  con 
suming  light  of  God's  truth,  trembling  at  the  thought 
that  I  have  lost  myself — that  I  have  lost  you — for 
ever.  Is  there  no  remedy?  In  my  despair  I  turn 
to  you,  the  one  I  have  wronged  most. 

"  SAVILLE." 

"  Mas'r  Saville  looked  sick,"  said  Tascar,  as  he 
gave  the  letter  to  Vera,  one  evening. 

In  a  few  moments  Vera  came  to  the  cabin  doot 
again  and  summoned  Tascar.  The  boy  thought  the 
expression  of  her  face  indicated  that  something  un 
usual  would  be  required,  and  he  was  prepared  for 
the  request. 

"  Tascar,  will  you  go  to  West  Point  for  me  again 
to-night?" 

"  Yes,  Missy  Vera,  if  it's  -anyting  'tickler." 

"  Give  that  letter  to  Mr.  Saville,  and  you  won't 
be  sorry  for  the  trouble  it  costs  you.  I  will  re 
ward  you." 


4.86  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Late  in  the  evening,  Saville  received  a  missive 
which  contained  only  these  words: 

"  Theron,  I  wish  to  see  you.  Come  to  the  place 
where  we  parted  on  the  hill-side,  the  first  evening 
your  duties  will  permit.  VERA." 

He  briefly  wrote  in  reply,  "  I  will  come  to-mor 
row  evening.  How  faithful  you-  are  !  " 

He  put  a  broad  piece  of  gold  in  the  weaned  mes 
senger's  hand,  and  said, 

"  Keep  that  yourself,  Tascar." 

^It  was  with  feelings  difficult  to  be  described  that 
Seville  looked  down  into  the  wild,  secluded  glen  once 
more.  Over  a  year  had  passed  since  he  had  seen  it, 
or  its  inmates.  The  mellow  autumn  sunlight  shim 
mered  through  the  trees  and  upon  the  rocks,  soft 
ening  the  rugged  wildness  of  the  scene.  But  in 
its  dreariest  wintry  garb  it  would  be  the  one  attrac 
tive  spot  of  earth  to  him. 

"Will  Vera  be  much  changed?"  he  had  asked 
himself  again  and  again.  Ages  seemed  to  have 
passed  since  he  had  seen  her. 

He  could  not  surprise  her  now.  She  was  waiting 
for  him,  with  her  hand  upon  her  side,  as  was  her 
custom  when  deep  feeling  caused  her  heart  to  flut 
ter  too  strongly.  To  one  watching  them  from  a 
little  distance  their  meeting  would  have  appeared 
very  quiet  and  undemonstrative  ;  but  to  each  other, 
trembling  hands  and  moistened  eyes  revealed  the 
depths  of  feeling  in  reserve. 

"  You  are  pale  and  thin,  Theron,"  said  Vera,  her 
tears  gathering  visibly. 


SEEKING  LIFE.  487 

"  These  are  the  least  of  my  troubles,"  he  replied, 
half  smiling.  "  I  dreaded  lest  you  had  become 
shadowy  and  spirit-like  under  the  discipline  of 
sorrow.  Since  I  have  come  to  believe  there  is  a 
Jieaven,  I  have  been  constantly  wondering  why  you 
are  not  taken  there  at  once.  But  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  you  have  become  womanly  during  this 
long  year,  rather  than  angelic." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  she  answered, 
trying  to  smile  also ;  "  for  the  reason  that  I  am  a 
woman,  if  for  no  other.  I  have  no  desire  to  be 
anything  else  at  present." 

"  Vera,"  he  could  not  forbear  saying,  "  I  did  not 
know  that  faith  and  sorrow  could  make  a  human 
face  so  beautiful." 

She  could  not  have  been  a  woman  did  not  a  smile 
of  pleasure  illumine  her  face  now.  Almost  instantly 
it  was  followed  by  an  expression  of  deep  pain,  and 
she  turned  away  for  a  moment. 

He  understood  her ;  she  could  not  drink  at  the 
ever-full  fountain  of  his  love  and  admiration,  though 
the  waters  were  so  sweet. 

But  when  she  turned  to  him  again,  there  was  no 
prudish  restraint  in  her  manner.  She  took  his  hand 
as  a  sister  might  do,  and  said, 

"  Theron,  I  want  to  help  you.  You  as  yet  only 
believe  the  poorest  and  most  meagre  part  of  God's 
truth." 

He  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise,  and  said, 

"Why,  Vera,  I  now  believe  the  Bible  as  it  reads 
substantially.  I  admit  that  there  is  much  that  I 
do  not  understand,  and  cannot  reconcile  ;  it  grows 


488  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

clearer,  however,  as  I  study  it.  The  difficulty  in 
understanding  it  all  is  an  argument  in  its  favor. 
It's  a  revelation  of  an  infinite  mind;  mine  is  finite, 
If  I  could  grasp  the  whole  book,  I  should  say  at 
once,  '  It  is  the  work  of  human  intellects  like  my 
own.' " 

"The  simple  parts  are  those  which  you  do  not 
believe.  You  do  not  understand  the  parts  that 
mother  taught  me  when  I  was  a  little  child." 

"  Then  teach  me  as  if  I  were  a  child." 

"  How  strange  that  you  should  say  that!  It's  a 
good  omen.  Read  those  words."  And  she  pointed 
out  the  following  text  in  the  Bible  he  had  given  her : 

"  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  whosoever  shall  not 
receive  the  Kingdom  of  God  as  a  little  child  shall  in 
no  wise  enter  therein." 

"  We  must  come  to  the  point,  Theron,  of  believ 
ing  what  our  Heavenly  Father  says,  with  the  trust 
of  a  little  child." 

"  But  what  does  the  Bible  say  of  those  who  offend, 
or  cause  one  of  God's  little  ones  to  offend?  How 
sorely  I  tempted  you,  Vera,"  and  he  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands. 

"  But  you  have  no  wish  to  make  me  offend  now?" 

"  No.  Whatever  becomes  of  me,  I  shall  thank 
God  that  He  preserved  you." 

"  Can  you  not  see  what  a  difference  this  fact 
makes?  Besides,  you  did  not  deliberately  and  con 
sciously  tempt  me  to  evil." 

"  But  that  made  the  temptation  tenfold  harder  for 
you  to  resist." 

"  You  were  not  to  blame  for  that.   But  why  dwell 


SEEKING  LIFE. 


489 


on  the  unhappy  past  ?  I  said  truly  that  you,  as  yet, 
believe  and  understand  but  the  poorest  part  of  the 
Bible.  If  the  Bible  is  true,  is  not  God  true  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Must  He  not  keep  His  word  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  listen  :  '  Let  the  wicked  forsake  his  way, 
and  the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts,  and  let  him 
return  unto  the  Lord,  and  He  will  have  mercy  upon 
him  ;  and  to  our  God,  for  He  will  abundantly  par 
don.'  You  are  willing  to  forsake  your  unbelief,  and 
all  the  evil  that  grew  naturally  out  of  it." 

"  How  sweetly  those  words  sound  as  you  read 
them,"  said  Saville  musingly ;  "  but  can  God,  con 
sistently  with  justice  and  His  threatenings  against 
evil,  forgive  my  years  of  blasphemy,  and  my " 

"  O  Theron  !  surely  He  will  and  can.  Did  He  not 
teach  His  disciples  to  forgive  each  other  seventy 
times  seven?  Will  He  do  less?" 

He  looked  at  her  very  earnestly,  and  she  saw  from 
the  expression  of  his  face  that  the  light  was  coming. 

**  Vera,  my  good  angel,  lead  me  on  a  little  fur 
ther,"  he  said.  "  Even  if  I  were  forgiven,  it  seems 
to  me  the  memory  of  what  I  have  been  and  what  I 
have  done  will  oppress  me  with  gloom  forever." 

"  Read  those  words,  Theron." 

He  took  her  Bible  and  read,  "  The  next  day  John 
seeth  Jesus  coming  unto  him,  and  saith,  Behold 
the  Lamb  of  God,  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the 
world." 

"  The  Bible  .also  says,"  she  added,  "  '  The  blood 
of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin.' " 
21* 


490  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

11  Where  is  that  ?  " 

She  showed  him. 

"Theron,"  she  said  tearfully,  "  can  you  remember 
the  scenes  of  Calvary  and  doubt  God's  love  ?  That 
is  the  part  of  the  Bible  you  don't  understand  and 
believe.  You  never  can  understand  God,  or  this, 
His  book,  until  you  make  these  words  the  key  to  all, 
'  God  is  love.'  I  shall  test  you  now  whether  you 
believe  the  Bible  or  not,"  and  she  repeated  earnestly 
these  words : 

"  If  we  confess  our  sins,  He  is  faithful  and  just 
to  forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse  us  from  all 
unrighteousness;" 

"  There  is  no  escape  here,  Theron.  It's  either 
God  is  true,  or  He  is  not  true,  and  will  not  keep  His 
word.  You  have  acknowledged  your  sin  with  grief 
and  sorrow,  and  you  have  no  wish  to  continue  in  it. 
With  this  clear  promise  before  you,  what  must  be 
your  inevitable  conclusion  ?  Ah,  Theron  !  I  read 
your  answer  in  your  face.  You  take  God  at  His 
word.  You  believe.  Can  any  happiness  of  heaven 
surpass  this  moment  ?  " 

"  O  God  !  "  he  said,  in  a  low,  deep  tone,  "  I  thank 
Thee  for  mercy  which  is  as  boundless  as  Thyself!  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  once,  Theron,  that  Shak- 
speare  echoed  the  Bible?  He  writes  thus  of  mercy 
you  remember : 

'  It  is  twice  bless'd  ; 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes : 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest.' 

"  I  believe  that  God  finds  more  joy  jn  showing  you 
mercy,  than  you  in  receiving  it." 


SEEKING  LIFE.  491 

"  I  can  almost  believe  it,"  he  said  ;  "  for  the  Being 
I  dreaded  inexpressibly  an  hour  ago  now  seems  the 
source  and  fountain  of  tenderness.  O  Vera!  "  he 
added,  with  an  expression  which  warmed  her  heart, 
and  cheered  her  through  the  long,  lonely  years  that 
followed,  "  I  am  glad  to  owe  heaven  to  you.  This  is 
better  than  saving  me  from  death  in  Fort  Clinton. 
I  can  wait  patiently  now." 

An  hour  flew  by  and  another  like  brief  moments. 
The  full  moon  filled  the  wild  gorge  with  beautiful 
lights  and  shadows  ;  but  they  were  too  deeply  ab 
sorbed  to  heed  the  witchery  of  nature. 

At  last  Saville  reluctantly  rose  to  go.  "  No  ;  I  will 
not  go  to  the  cabin,"  he  said.'  "  After  these  words  to 
you  I  wish  to  speak  to  no  other  human  being  to 
day." 

He  then  commenced  looking  for  something  on 
the  ground,  and  said, 

"  Where  was  it  that  I,  in  my  wicked  passion, 
trod  that  ring  into  the  earth?  " 

"  Here,  Theron,"  said  Vera  promptly.  "  I  have 
watched  the  pla.ce  ever  since  as  if  it  were  a  little 
grave." 

He  soon  recovered  it,  and  taking  her  hand,  said 
hesitatingly, 

"  Vera,  can  you  not  wear  this  ring  as  a  token  of 
my  boundless  gratitude  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Theron." 

"  It  is  tarnished  and  warped  like  myself." 

"  But  it's  made  of  gold,  Theron,  gold  that  has  been 
tried  in  the  fire." 

"  This  is  a  very  different  parting  from  our  last,"  he 


492 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


said,  after  a  moment ;  "  and  we  now  have  the  earnest 
in  our  hearts  that  the  time  will  come  when  these 
sad  farewells  shall  cease.  Good-by.  Good-by  once 
more,  my  true,  loyal  Vera.  I  will  watch  till  I  see 
you  enter  the  cabin  door." 

"  Theron,  you  never  made  me  so  happy  before. 
Good-by." 

He  watched  her  as  she  passed  through  the  alter 
nate  light  and  shadow  that  fell  upon  the  path.  He 
saw  the  flutter  of  her  handkerchief  as  she  waved 
him  a  farewell  at  the  cabin  door,  but  still  he  did 
not  go.  The  dawn  was  tinging  the  sky  before  he 
could  bring  himself  to  leave  the  place  where  heaven 
had  opened  to  him  in  the  stony  desert  of  his  de 
spair. 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  493 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

A  MYSTERY   SOLVED — GREAT  CHANGES. 

ON  the  day  following  his  visit  to  the  mountain 
valley,  Saville  received  orders  which  occa 
sioned  one  of  those  sudden  changes  that  are  charac 
teristic  of  military  life  ;  for  he  was  directed  to  re 
port  as  soon  as  possible  at  Charleston,  South  Caro 
lina.  He  wrote  quite  a  long  letter  to  Vera,  in  which 
he  recognized  the  kind  Providence  which  had 
brought  about  his  new  and  happy  belief  and  feelings 
before  this  wide  separation  took  place. 

"  I  must  go  this  very  day,"  he  wrote,  "  for  my  or 
ders  are  urgent.  Your  promptness  gave  me  our  in 
terview  last  evening,  and  the  peace,  hope,  and  faith 
which  grew  out  of  it.  I  now  feel  that  my  feet  are 
on  the  rock,  Vera,  and  no  distance,  time,  or  disaster 
can  finally  separate  me  from  you.  How  much  I 
owe  to  you  !  " 

•  The  winter  of  1779-80  was  one  of  unprecedented 
severity.  Even  the  great  bay  of  New  York  was  frozen 
over,  and  the  British  ships  were  ice-bound  at  their 
anchorage.  If  Washington's  army  had  been  strong 
and  thoroughly  equipped,  he  could  have  attacked 
the  men-of-war  as  if  they  were  inland  fortresses. 
New  York  city  was  no  longer  on  an  island,  and 


494 


NEAR   TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


the  heaviest  artillery  could  approach  it  on  every 
side.  General  Knyphausen,  in  command,  was  great 
ly  alarmed,  apprehending  that  Washington  would 
attempt  a  coup  de  main,  and  he  made  extraordinary 
efforts  to  secure  himself  against  a  sudden  attack 
from  the  Continentals.  But  Washington's  troops 
were  half  naked,  shivering,  and  starving  among  the 
snow-clad  hills  of  Morristown.  For  weeks  at  a  time 
the  whole  army  was  on  half  allowance,  and  this  at  a 
period  when  the  intense  cold  made  generous  diet 
most  necessary. 

"  For  a  fortnight  past,"  Washington  wrote  on  the 
8th  of  January,  "  the  troops,  both  officers  and  men, 
have  been  almost  perishing  with  want.  Yet,'* 
adds  he,  feelingly,  "they  have  borne  their  sufferings 
with  a  patience  that  merits  the  approbation,  and 
ought  to  excite  the  sympathies,  of  their  country 
men." 

In  addition  to  all  other  horrors,  the  loathsome 
disease  of  small-pox  became  epidemic,  and  often 
there  was  not  even  a  blanket  with  which  to  cover  a 
sick  and  dying  man.  Thus  the  Continental  army 
could  scarcely  keep  soul  and  body  together,  much 
less  strike  vigorous  blows  at  their  ice-bound  enemies, 
who  were  at  least  comfortably  housed  and  well  fed. 

In  this  dark  hour  Washington  entreated  Heaven 
continually  in  behalf  of  his  country.*  He  was  often 
seen  bowing  in  prayer  in  some  retired  place  of  the 

*  A  soldier  in  the  regiment  of  which  the  writer  was  chaplain  during 
the  late  war,  stated  that  his  grandfather  had  seen  Washington  at 
prayer,  in  the  woods  near  his  quarters  at  Morristown,  more  than 
once. 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


495 


forest,  and  it  is  rational  to  believe  that  we  witness 
the  answer  to  his  petitions  in  his  sublime  and  more 
than  human  fortitude. 

Had  such  a  winter  occurred  at  the  time  when 
Vera  was  chiefly  dependent  upon  her  own  exertions, 
it  might  have  been  fatal  to  her  and  all  the  inmates 
of  the  cabin.  It  certainly  would  have  been  so,  in 
the  condition  in  which  Saville  found  them  in  the 
autumn  following  the  burning  of  their  first  home. 
But  his  forethought  and  liberality,  and  the  labors  of 
Tascar,  had  provided  against  such  an  emergency, 
and  though  she  and  her  father  suffered  somewhat 
from  the  cold  during  this  interminable  winter,  they 
had  food  in  abundance. 

It  passed  away  at  last,  and  spring  brought  ano 
ther  long  campaign,  during  which  she  heard  from 
Savilie  but  very  seldom. 

Another  winter  and  summer  passed,  and  there 
were  long,  anxious  intervals;  with  no  tidings  from 
the  South.  Letters  were  rare  and  uncertain  luxu 
ries  in  those  days. 

At  last  the  thrill  of  joy  which  went  through  the 
land  at  the  surrender  of  Lord  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown 
was  felt,  even  in  the  secluded  mountain  cabin.  Tas 
car,  half  wild  with  excitement,  brought  the  news 
from  West  Point.  Vera  was  profoundly  thankful, 
as  the  event  promised  to  hasten  the  day  of  peace; 
while  her  father  was  more  elated  than  he  had  ever 
been  before  with  the  hope  that  he  would  soon  be, 
without  doubt,  beyond  British  law.  As  the  war 
continued,  and  the  colonies  had  maintained  the 
struggle  from  year  to  year,  his  hope  had  gradually 


496  NEAR    TO    NATURE'S  HEART. 

strengthened,  that  even  the  enormous  power  of 
England  might  at  last  be  wearied  into  yielding  the 
liberty  which  her  colonies  claimed.  Under  the  in 
fluence  of  this  hope  he  grew  somewhat  less  moody 
and  depressed,  and  at  times  he  even  tried,  in  a  grim, 
poor  way,  to  be  more  companionable  to  Vera,  whom 
he  pitied  profoundly  in  her  loneliness. 

In  the  winter  of  1781-2  a  letter,  that  had  been 
long  on  the  way,  came  from  Saville,  stating  that 
he  had  been  wounded  in  the  siege  of  Yorktown, 
but  that  he  was  now  out  of  danger  and  recovering. 
It  breathed  the  same  quiet,  hopeful  spirit  which  had 
pervaded  all  his  letters  during  this  long  absence. 
His  faith  was  strengthening  with  time  and  trial. 

Vera  immediately  wrote  fully  and  feelingly  in  re 
ply,  and  Surgeon  Jasper,  who  was  still  at  West  Point, 
and  a  friend  that  could  be  depended  upon,  promised 
to  make  great  efforts  to  secure  her  letter  a  safe 
transit.  Its  receipt  did  much  to  hasten  Saville's 
recovery ;  but  such  was  the  feeble  and  exhausted 
condition  of  his  system,  that  his  surgeon  insisted 
upon  his  remaining  in  the  South  during  the  winter. 

The  spring  of  the  auspicious  year  of  1782  again 
clothed  the  Highlands  with  beauty,  and  rumors  of 
peace  were  gladdening  the  hearts  of  the  people. 

One  day  Tascar  came  up  from  West  Point  in  an 
unusual  state  of  excitement. 

"  I'se  a-tinkin',  Missy  Vera,"  he  said,  "  dat  peace 
mus'  hab  come  ober  de  water,  for  dey's  gitting  ready 
for  wonderful  doin's  at  de  P'int.  Nebber  see  de 
like  afore.  Dey's  buildin'  a  kind  ob  arbor  wid 
trunks  ob  trees,  and  de  branches  all  twisted  to- 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


497 


gedder,  and  it's  as  big — why  de  hull  army  could  git 
under  it.  An*  dey  tells  me  dat  dere's  a-gwine  to  be 
a  big  dinner,  an  a  dance,  an'  a  "few  de  joyful"  an*  no 
end  to  wonderful  tings.  I  seed  Capting  Molly,  too, 
an*  she  said  we  mus*  all  come  down  an*  see,  kase 
eberybody  would  be  dar.  Gin'ral  Washington  and 
big  ladies  and  eberybody  else." 

Vera  saw  that  her  father  was  as  greatly  interested 
as  herself. 

"Do  you  think  that  it  does  mean  peace,  Vera?" 
he  asked. 

"  We  will  go  and  see." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  cannot " 

"  Father,  I  am  going,  and  you  would  not  let  me 
go  alone." 

So,  on  the  morning  of  the  3ist  of  May,  the 
strange  little  group,  consisting  of  the  tall  and  griz 
zled  exile,  carrying  his  long  rifle ;  his  beautiful  daugh 
ter,  with  her  golden  hair  falling  in  wavy  fullness  far 
over  her  shoulders,  and  the  delighted  Tascar,  who 
capered  along  the  path  like  a  frolicsome  spaniel,  often 
exposing  their  basket  of  lunch  to  imminent  danger 
from  his  odd  freaks,  started  for  the  plain  of  West 
Point,  where  the  celebration  was  to  be  held. 

They  reached  the  vicinity  of  their  old  cabin  dur 
ing  the  forenoon,  and  Vera  said, 

"  Father,  we  will  rest  and  eat  our  lunch  by  the 
spring  near  mother's  grave." 

"Oh,  no,  Vera,  not  there,"  he  answered,  with  a 
remorseful  face. 

"Yes,  father,  there.  Mother  is  not  lost  to  us. 
She  is  only  absent  now;  but  I  am  sure  she  would 


498  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

like  us  to  remember  her,  and  to  be  near  her  resting- 
place." 

He  yielded.  He  was  forming  the  habit  of  yield 
ing  to  her  more  and  more,  for,  since  her  will  had  gov 
erned,  he  recognized  the  fact  that  he  had  enjoyed 
both  security  and  the  comforts  of  life. 

Vera  left  her  lunch  untasted  for  some  time,  as  she 
gazed  wistfully  around  the  familiar  place,  now  so 
changed  in  consequence  of  the  fort  having  been 
built.  With  a  deep  sense  of  gratitude  she  saw  that 
the  grave  had  not  been  molested  or  trampled. 

"  I  would  rather  spend  the  day  here,  recalling  the 
past,"  she  said,  as  they  were  preparing  to  leave, 
"  than  in  witnessing  the  grand  festival.  But  come  ; 
the  longer  I  remain,  the  harder  it  will  be  to 

go-" 

"  O  Esther,  my  wife  !  would  to  God  you  had  seen 
these  better  days,"  sighed  her  father.  "  Would  to 
God  you  had  seen  the  time  when  we  could  begin  to 
feel  safe." 

"  She  does  see  it,  father.  I  feel  sure  she  is  re 
joicing  in  everything  that  brings  us  hope  and  joy." 

He  shook  his  head,  but  followed  silently. 

Vera  was  young,  and  still  had  the  keen  interest 
of  youth  in  all  that  was  new,  strange,  and  beautiful ; 
and  her  eyes  kindled  and  her  face  flushed  with  de 
light  as  the  wide  plain  of  West  Point,  lined  with 
barracks,  tents,  and  officers'  quarters,  all  decorated 
with  flags  and  gay  streamers,  opened  before  her. 
Across  this  plain,  groups  of  people,  and  battalions 
of  soldiers  with  their  weapons  glittering  in  the  bright 
early  summer  sunlight,  were  moving  in  what  seemed 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED.  499 

from  her  distant  place  of  observation  to  be  bewilder 
ing  confusion. 

The  magnificent  colonnade,  or  arbor,  which  was 
built  on  a  slight  rise  of  ground  in  the  rear  of  Fort 
Clinton,  seemed  to  her  a  structure  more  wonderful 
and  beautiful  than  even  the  imagination  could  create. 

It  was  indeed  one  of  the  most  remarkable  edifices 
of  the  kind  ever  erected,  and  had  required  the  super 
vising  skill  of  an  eminent  French  engineer  by  the 
name  of  Major  Villefranche,  and  the  labors  of  a  thou 
sand  men  for  over  ten  days.  It  was  two  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  long  and  eighty  feet  wide,  and  was 
composed  of  the  simple  materials  which  the  trees  in 
the  vicinity  afforded.  A  grand  colonnade  of  one 
hundred  and  eighteen  pillars,  which  were  simply  the 
trunks  of  tall,  stately  trees,  ran  down  the  center,  and 
supported  the  lofty  roof,  that  was  formed  by  cu 
riously  interwoven  boughs  and  leafy  branches  ;  the 
fragrant  evergreens,  in  which  the  region  abounds, 
being  the  chief  components.  Rafters  sloped  beneath 
this  leafy  canopy  from  the  ridge  to  two  lighter  rows 
of  supporting  pillars  on  either  side,  and  from  these 
were  suspended  wreaths  of  evergreens  and  flowers. 
The  ends  and  sides,  up  to  a  lofty  height,  were  left 
open,  so  that  the  guests  could  pass  in  and  out 
unimpeded,  and  also  from  every  part  command  a 
view  of  the  plain  and  surrounding  scenery.  This 
openness  of  formation  also  caused  the  immense 
structure  to  give  the  impression  of  light,  airy  grace. 

As  Vera  approached,  and  saw  that  groups  of  people 
were  passing  unhindered  under  and  through  the 
beautiful  bower,  she  induced  her  father  to  go  thither 


5oo 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


also.  He  seemingly  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  would  humor  Vera  to  her  heart's  content  on 
this  occasion,  though  it  cost  him  a  greater  effort  than 
even  she  realized  to  face  the  curious  stare  he  saw 
on  every  side.  At  first  she  was  so  absorbed  and 
delighted  with  the  new  and  wonderful  scenes, 
that  she  did  not  notice  how  many  eyes  were 
following  her.  Wherever  they  went,  faces  were 
turned  toward  them,  on  which  were  the  blended 
expressions  of  surprise,  admiration,  and  curiosity. 
But  Vera  was  so  utterly  free  from  vanity  and  self- 
consciousness  that  she  did  not  notice  this  till  the 
fact  was  forced  upon  her.  With  her  lovely  features 
aglow  with  pleasure  and  intelligent  interest,  she 
strolled  through  the  arbor  at  the  side  of  her  father, 
calling  his  attention  to  the  festoons  of  flowers,  the 
garlands  encircling  the  rustic  pillars,  the  emblem 
atical  devices,  fleurs-de-lis,  and  other  decorations  sig 
nificant  of  the  American  alliance  with  France. 

As  she  was  examining  the  fanciful  manner  in 
which  the  central  pillars  were  surrounded  by  mus 
kets  and  bayonets  bound  together  by  the  inter 
mingled  colors  of  each  nationality,  she  suddenly 
became  conscious  of  a  dark,  bloated  face  directly 
before  her,  and  the  rude,  leering  stare  of  two  evil 
eyes.  She  sprang  back  as  if  she  had  seen  a  viper 
coiled  among  the  devices  about  the  pillar,  for  she 
recognized  in  the  stranger  the  tipsy  officer  who  had 
insulted  her  by  trying  to  snatch  a  kiss  at  the  time 
she  went  to  Constitution  Island  in  search  of  tidings 
from  Saville. 

"  Ha !  my  pretty  one,  I  see  you  remember  me," 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


501 


he  said  brassily.  "  I  hope  you  are  now  prepared  to 
make  amends  for  your  coyness  then.  If  so,  I  will 
forego  the  grudge  I  might  naturally  hold  against 
you." 

Vera  gave  him  no  other  answer  than  a  look  of 
aversion  and  contempt,  which  her  expressive  fea 
tures  made  very  unmistakable,  and  hastening  to  her 
father,  she  induced  him  to  follow  the  people  who 
were  streaming  across  the  plain  to  the  northern  side, 
as  if  something  of  interest  were  taking  place  there. 

They  had  not  gone  very  far  before  the  fellow, 
captivated  by  Vera's  beauty,  determined  to  make 
another  attempt  to  break  down  her  reserve.  She 
started  violently  as  she  found  him  walking  coolly  at 
her  side. 

"  Upon  a  gala  occasion  like  this/'  he  said,  "  a  fair 
lady  needs  a  gallant.  I  am  an  officer  and  a  gentle 
man,  and  I  can  make  the  day  pass  more  pleasantly." 

"  You  are  not  a  gentleman,  sir,  or  you  would  not 
thrust  yourself  upon  those  to  whom  your  society  is 
evidently  unwelcome." 

"  Nay,  my  lovely  charmer ;  yeur  frowns  and  coy 
ness  only  stimulate  my  desire  to  win  your  favor." 

Almost  before  the  words  were  spoken  a  blow  laid 
him  prostrate  on  the  plain,  and  the  enraged  father 
stood  over  him  and  said,  with  significant  emphasis, 

"  As  you  value  your  life,  do  not  approach  my 
daughter  again  to-day." 

The  scene  was  drawing  a  curious  crowd,  and  Vera, 
taking  her  father's  arm,  hastened  to  escape,  leaving 
her  insulter  to  explain  his  plight  as  he  pleased.  The 
scene  explained  itself,  however,  and  the  prostrate 


502 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


officer  picked  himself  up  and  skulked  off  amid  jeers 
and  shouts  of  laughter. 

But  among  those  who  had  witnessed  the  incident 
was  no  other  than  the  redoubtable  Captain  Molly 
herself,  who,  with  quite  a  following  of  "  swatehearts," 
was  about  as  jolly  a  widow  as  one  could  imagine. 
She  hastened  after  Vera,  and  soon  overtook  her,  cry 
ing  volubly, 

"  The  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  ye,  Misthress  Vera, 
and  the  same  to  yerself,  sur.  It  did  me  heart  good, 
sur,  to  see  how  ye  gave  that  capting  a  lesson  in 
manners.  That  clip  at  the  side  o'  his  head  is  the 
fust  wound  he's  got  in  the  war,  for  they  say  he's 
moighty  discrate  wid  men,  though  bould  as  a  lion  or 
some  wusser  baste  wid  women.  Faix,  and  I'm  hon 
est  glad  to  see  ye  agin,  an'  a-lookin'  as  perty  as  a 
wild  rose,  too.  I  don't  wonder  the  fellers  is  all 
a-starin'  at  ye." 

Vera's  greeting  was  cordial  though  quiet.  For 
some  reason  she  felt  safer  since  Molly  was  within 
call  ;  but  she  shrank  sensitively  from  the  attention 
she  drew,  for  the  "  captain,"  in  her  blue  petticoat, 
cocked  hat,  and  the  scarlet  coat  of  an  artilleryman, 
was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  being  followed  by 
a  crowd  of  gaping  country  people  wherever  she 
went. 

"  This  festival  is  not  in  honor  of  peace  after  all,"' 
said  Vera. 

"  Did  ye  think  that  it  was?  Well,  yez  live  so  far 
behoind  the  mountings  that  ye're  a  little  behoind  the 
times.  Pace  is  comin'  soon,  but  they  call  this  a  fate, 
and  it's  to  the  honor  of  the  Dolphin  of  France." 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED.  503 

"  The  Dolphin  of  France  ?  "  said  Vera,  turning  to 
her  father  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"  Yis,  it's  in  honor  of  the  birth  of  the  Dolphin 
of  France.  That's  what  ivery  one's  a-sayin'.  It's 
not  meself  that  knows  what  kind  of  a  crayther  it  is 
that's  been  bourn,  but  I'm  a-hopin'  its  mother'll 
have  a  lot  more,  if  we  are  to  have  as  big  a  day 
as  this  ivery  toime  !  " 

"  She  means  that  the  fete  is  in  honor  of  the  birth 
of  the  Dauphin  of  France,  the  child  who  is  heir  to 
the  French  throne,"  said  Vera's  father,  his  grim  face 
relaxing  at  Molly's  words  and  manner. 

"  Now  ye've  got  it  straight,  Misther  Brown.  It's 
nothin'  but  a  baby  we're  makin'  sich  a  fuss  about. 
But  niver  ye  moind,  since  we're  goin'  to  have  the 
fuss  and  frolic.  An'  now  I  must  go  back  to  me 
swatehearts.  But  belave  me,  Misthress  Vera,  none 
on  'em  comes  up  to  the  fust  'un.  I've  thried  many 
a  one  since  poor  Larry  got  his  head  shot  off,  but  I 
shall  niver  git  his  loikes  agin,"  and  with  that  she 
scampered  off,  to  Vera's  great  relief.  And  yet  the 
maiden  had  cause  to  bless  the  meeting  ever  after 
ward. 

Escaping  from  the  staring,  laughing  crowd,  which 
Molly's  appearance  and  words  drew  around  them, 
they  soon  reached  the  northern  edge  of  the  plain 
facing  the  river,  from  which  point  they  witnessed  a 
beautiful  spectacle.  Approaching  the  shore  were 
parallel  lines  of  barges  decorated  with  flags  and 
streamers,  and  the  water  around  them  was  flashing 
and  sparkling  under  the  strokes  of  multitudinous 
oars.  These  boats  contained  General  and  Lady 


504  NEAR    7V  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Washington  and  his  suite,  Governor  Clinton  and  his 
wife,  eminent  generals  with  their  staffs,  and  a  large 
number  of  prominent  citizens  and  ladies  of  rank  and 
fashion.  A  band  of  music  led  the  way,  and  accom 
panied  the  distinguished  guests  up  the  hill  to  Major- 
General  McDougall's  quarters,  while  the  artillery 
thundered  out  its  salvo  of  welcome. 

Vera  watched  everything  with  the  wonder  and 
delight  of  a  child,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  her,  and 
especially  to  her  father,  that  the  pageant  absorbed 
all  attention,  and  that  they,  for  a  time,  were  utterly 
unnoticed.  It  gave  them  a  chance  to  recover  from 
the  nervousness  and  disquietude  which  their  en 
counter  with  the  rude  officer  and  the  irrepressible 
Molly  had  occasioned.  As  Washington  approached, 
Vera  recognized  him  with  a  strong  thrill  of  pride 
and  gratitude. 

"  He  has  the  same  quiet,  noble  face,"  she  thought ; 
"  he  is  too  great  to  be  elated  by  all  this  pomp  and 
show." 

After  his  Excellency,  his  wife,  and  suite  had  dis 
appeared,  Vera  was  annoyed  at  finding  so  many 
glances  turning  toward  her  again.  Unlike,  perhaps, 
the  majority  of  her  fair  sisters  who  have  since  visited 
West  Point,  she  did  not  realize  that  her  own  lovely 
face  was  the  chief  cause.  In  fact,  both  father  and 
daughter  appeared  as  if  they  might  have  stepped 
out  of  some  old  story  or  book  of  fairy  tales  ;  and 
Xascar,  as  he  followed  them,  would  have  answered 
very  well  as  a  hobgoblin  page.  Many  young  officers 
lingered  near,  and  cast  wistful  glances  at  the  maiden, 
but  their  manner  was  respectful  and  unobtrusive. 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


505 


Vera  now  suggested  that  they  should  find  some 
quiet  nook  near  to  the  great  colonnade,  whence 
they  could  see  all  without  attracting  notice  them 
selves  ;  and  her  father  was  only  too  glad  to  accede, 
for  this  exposure  was  taxing  his  resolution  to  give 
Vera  a  day  of  pleasure,  at  every  cost  to  himself, 
almost  beyond  his  power  of  endurance. 

Soon  after  their  arrival,  Vera  had  directed  Tascar 
to  find  Surgeon  Jasper;  but  he  returned,  saying  that 
the  doctor  had  been  summoned  home,  on  important 
matters,  a  few  days  previous  ;  so  they  had  no  other 
resource  than  to  do  the  best  they  could  themselves. 

They  at  last  found  a  spot  a  little  off  at  one  side, 
from  which,  under  a  clump  of  trees,  they  had  a  good 
view  of  the  plain,  the  colonnade  or  arbor,  and  sur 
rounding  heights.  Plain  country  people  and  utter 
strangers,  who,  like  themselves,  were  bent  on  seeing 
the  pageant,  and  had  no  other  thought,  sat  down 
around  them,  hiding  them,  in  part,  from  view,  and 
shutting  away  the  curious  and  obtrusive.  It  was 
not  long  before  they  felt  a  sense  of  security  and 
retirement  in  this  sheltered  place,  which  was  decid 
edly  reassuring,  and  even  the  poor  exile  became  in 
terested  in  the  brave  scenes  before  him,  especially 
as  they  gave  evidence  that  the  Americans  were 
gaining  rather  than  losing  the  power  to  cope  with 
their  most  formidable  enemy. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  it  seemed  to  them 
that,  an  innumerable  host  appeared.  The  hills  on 
the  eastern  side  of  the  river  were  covered  with 
troops,  while  from  every  side  of  the  plain,  and  on 
the  circling  heights  around,  bayonets  began  to 
22 


506  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

gleam,  led  forward  by  that  music  which  chiefly  has 
the  power  to  set  the  nerves  tingling  with  excite 
ment.  The  earth  beneath  them  trembled  under  the 
heavy,  rumbling  wheels  of  the  artillery.  Within  an 
hour  the  plain  and  hills  adjacent,  on  both  sides  of 
the  river,  were  covered  with  serried  ranks  of  men, 
their  burnished  weapons  lighting  up  the  scene  with 
flashing  brilliancy,  by  their  vivid  reflection  of  the 
genial  sunlight. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  three  cannons 
were  fired  as  a  signal.  All  the  troops  around  the 
immense  circle  advanced  simultaneously  in  grand 
and  glittering  array ;  and,  after  a  brief  display,  in 
full  view  of  the  arbor,  the  men  were  permitted  to 
stack  their  arms,  and  throw  themselves  upon  the 
ground,  or  stroll  about  near  the  line  of  their  posi 
tion. 

All  the  officers,  except  one  field  officer  to  each 
brigade,  and  one  battalion  officer  to  each  regiment, 
repaired  to  the  colonnade,  where,  they  had  been  in 
formed,  "  General  Washington  expected  the  pleasure 
of  their  company  at  dinner."  From  every  part  of 
the  plain,  and  in  barges  on  the  river,  the  gallant 
veterans  of  seven  years  of  war  were  gathering  to  the 
banquet — a  most  unwonted  experience  to  them. 

But,  while  Vera  was  enjoying  every  moment  be 
neath  the  shelter  of  her  tree,  and  in  the  shadow  of 
the  honest,  homespun  people,  who  were  wondering, 
with  breathless  interest,  at  the  rapidly  shifting  scenes, 
she  was  the  object  of  plots  and  counter  plots.  The 
officer  whose  insolence  had  been  punished,  in  part, 
went  away  with  oaths  of  vengeance.  As  far  as  he 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


507 


could  learn,  Vera  was  friendless,  and  her  father  under 
a  cloud  of  some  kind,  so  that  there  would  be  no  one 
to  resent  any  indignity  he  might  offer  them.  He 
knew  well  where  to  find  men  of  the  basest  sort  like 
himself,  and,  as  liquor  flowed  like  water  that  day,  the 
evil-disposed  were  ready  for  any  reckless  deed.  He 
resolved  that  if  Vera  stayed  until  the  dusk  of  the 
evening,  he  would  carry  her  off  to  his  quarters  up 
the  river.  He  laid  his  plans  cunningly,  rapidly,  and 
secretly,  taking  into  his  plot  only  a  sufficient  number 
to  carry  it  out.  It  was  briefly  this  :  After  night  ob 
scured  everything,  he  and  his  party  would  suddenly 
crowd  up  and  around  his  victim,  separate  her  from 
her  father,  tie  a  handkerchief  over  her  mouth,  so 
that  she  could  make  no  outcry,  and  spirit  her  off  to 
the  shore,  where  a  boat  would  be  in  waiting. 

But  it  so  happened  that  a  bad  fellow  of  this 
officer's  company  was  one  of  Captain  Molly's  satel 
lites  ;  for  she  still  was  not  over  choice  in  her  com 
pany.  She  saw  this  man  summoned  away  for  a  few 
moments  by  his  captain,  and  the  whispered  con 
ference  that  followed ;  and  the  quick-witted  camp- 
follower  surmised  that  a  plot  against  Vera  was  on 
foot. 

"  What  did  that  spalpeen  say  to  ye  ?  "  she  asked  the 
man  on  his  return  to  her  side. 

"  He  was  a-tellin'  me  what  a  handsome  woman 
ye  is." 

"  If  ye  don't  tell  me  what  he  said,  ye  may  take 
yerself  off." 

"  Now,  Molly,  me  darlint,  why  should  ye  care 
what  he  said  ?  " 


5o8 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


"  I  don't  care ;  I've  only  took  a  notion  to  see  how 
good  a  friend  ye're  to  me." 

"  Well,  ye  won't  tell,  thin,  nor  do  anythin'  to  sthop 
the  fun  that's  up  ?  " 

"  Of  coorse  not." 

"  Well,  the  capting,  who  is  moighty  swate  on  the 
women,  is  a-gwine  to  carry  off  a  perty  little  gall  to 
night,  and  I'm  to  help  him,"  he  whispered  in  her  ear. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  she  said  carelessly. 

"  I  tould  ye  it  was  somethin'  ye  wouldn't  care 
nothin'  about." 

Molly  made  no  further  reference  to  the  subject, 
but  not  long  after  she  casually,  and  with  no  appa 
rent  motive,  took  a  position  where  she  could  keep 
Vera  and  her  father  constantly  under  her  eye,  and 
she  continued  to  maintain  such  a  position. 

As  the  sun  declined  toward  the  western  highlands, 
General  and  Lady  Washington,  his  suite,  and  the 
most  distinguished  guests  moved  from  General 
McDougall's  quarters,  through  lines  of  saluting  sol 
diers,  to  the  arbor,  where  was  spread  as  elegant  a  din 
ner  as  the  times  and  circumstances  permitted.  Five 
hundred  guests,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  sat  down  to 
the  dinner,  and  the  thousands  who  looked  on,  kept 
by  the  guards  at  a  respectful  distance,  regarded 
these  favored  ones  as  among  the  immortals.  Vera 
saw  Washington  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  she 
wondered  how  one  so  exalted  in  station  could  have 
been  so  simple  and  kind  in  his  manner  toward  her. 
She  found  herself  watching  him,  and  thinking  about 
his  interview  with  her,  during  the  time  he  was  pre 
siding  over  the  banquet. 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


509 


But  there  was  another,  seated  toward  the  further 
end  of  the  table,  who  would  have  absorbed  her 
thoughts  completely  had  she  known  of  his  presence. 
Pale,  thin  from  much  suffering,  and  with  the  sleeve 
of  his  left  arm  hanging  empty  at  his  side,  Saville 
sat  quietly  among  the  guests,  equally  in  ignorance 
that  the  one  never  far  from  his  thoughts  was  but 
a  few  rods  away.  He  had  heard  of  the  proposed 
fete  in  honor  of  the  Dauphin,  had  hastened  his 
journey,  and  arrived  just  in  time  to  sit  down  with 
his  brother  officers  beneath  the  rustic  arbor.  The 
insignia  upon  his  uniform  showed  that  he  had  been 
promoted  to  the  rank  of  colonel ;  but  the  expression 
of  his  face  revealed  that  he  had  achieved  a  charac 
ter  which  is  above  all  earthly  rank  and  distinction. 

He  had  not  written  to  Vera  of  the  serious  nature 
of  his  wound,  and  of  the  irreparable  loss  it  had  oc 
casioned,  knowing  that  it  would  pain  her  to  no  pur 
pose.  She  would  grieve  over  it  continually;  but, 
when  she  came  to  see  him,  he  could,  in  a  measure, 
make  light  of  it. 

Saville  found  himself  seated  next  to  an  officer 
possessing  the  same  rank  as  himself,  and  of  a  very 
noble  mien,  and  distinguished  bearing.  There  was  a 
peculiar  gravity  in  his  manner  and  expression,  and  he 
seemed  to  have  no  disposition  to  become  convivial, 
as  was  the  case  with  the  majority.  This  made  him 
all  the  more  a  congenial  companion  to  Saville,  and 
they  both  speedily  became  interested  in  each  other. 
Saville  thought  he  had  never  met  a  man  of  more 
wide  and  varied  information,  or  one  better  able 
to  express  himself  with  elegance  and  force.  He 


NEAR    TO    NATURE'S   HEART. 

also  noted  that  he  was  treated  with  deference  by 
those  who  knew  him.  The  stranger  soon  introduced 
himself  as  Colonel  Wellingly,  adding,  with  fine  cour 
tesy,  "  I  have  long  known  you,  Colonel  Saville,  by 
reputation  as  an  accomplished  engineer  officer,  and 
I  have  heard  of  your  gallantry  at  Yorktown." 

"  I  feel  highly  honored,"  Saville  replied,  "  that 
my  name  "has  ever  had  favorable  mention  to  you ; 
but  I  confess  that  I  am  thoroughly  tired  of  war, 
and  would  be  glad  to  devote  what  there  is  left  of 
me  to  the  arts  of  peace." 

"  Well,"  said  Colonel  Wellingly  musingly,  "  I 
suppose  the  war  is  practically  over,  and  I  am  glad, 
on  account  of  t)"e  evils  and  suffering  it  ever  occa 
sions.  But  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  to  what  I  shall 
devote  myself,  unless  it  be  to  the  erection  of  a  hunt 
ing-lodge  among  these  magnificent  mountains.  I 
have  never  seen  a  better  place  in  which  to  while 
away  the  useless  remnant  of  a  life." 

From  the  first  Saville  had  detected  a  low  under 
tone  of  sorrow  and  disappointment  in  the  man's 
words  and  accent.  Colonel  Wellingly  evident!y.knew 
that  he  had  suffered  deeply  in  the  past,  for  he  saiu, 
as  the  cloth  was  being  removed,  preparatory  to  the 
drinking  of  the  toasts, 

"  We  have  both  seen  trouble  in  our  day,  Colonel 
Saville ;  but  I  envy  you  the  hopeful  spirit  you  pos 
sess,  and  the  purpose  still  to  accomplish  something 
in  life.  I  am  growing  listless  and  tired." 

Thirteen  toasts,  appropriate  to  the  occasion,  were 
announced  successively,  and  each  one  was  followed 
by  the  discharge  of  artillery  and  joyous  music,  and, 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED.  511 

by  not  a  few,  with  long,  deep  potations,  which  made 
their  march  to  their  quarters  anything  but  steady. 

After  the  thirteenth  toast  was  drank,  the  guests 
rose  from  the  tables,  which  were  rapidly  cleared 
away  in  preparation  for  the  dancing  of  the  evening, 
and  the  regimental  officers  joined  their  respective 
commands. 

As  the  twilight  deepened,  the  feu-de-joie  which 
had  been  ordered  commenced  with  the  thunder  of 
thirteen  cannon,  followed  by  volleys  of  musketry 
along  the  whole  line  of  the  army  on  the  surrounding 
hills.  Three  times  the  circling  lines  of  fire  flashed 
out,  and  the  hills  and  mountains  were  kept  resound 
ing  with  the  mighty  echoes,  until  they  gave  way  to 
another  and  more  awe-inspiring  sound — the  thrice- 
repeated  shout  of  acclamation  and  benediction  for 
the  Dauphin,  by  the  united  voices  of  the  entire 
army,  on  every  side.  The  poor  boy  was  destined  to 
soon  hear,  and  from  his  own  people,  volleyed  curses, 
instead  of  benedictions,  and  a  pitiless  cry  for  his 
blood,  instead  of  loyal  acclamations. 

As  the  last  vehement  shout  died  away,  the  night 
was  illuminated  by  a  brilliant  display  of  fireworks 
from  Fort  Webb.  The  discharge  of  three  cannon 
concluded  the  ceremonies  of  the  day,  and  was  the 
signal  for  the  troops  to  march  to  their  cantonments. 
In  the  mean  time  the  arbor  or  colonnade  had  been 
brilliantly  lighted  up,  and  the  dancing  was  about 
to  commence.  Vera  had  been  almost  overwhelmed 
with  awe  at  the  deep  reverberations  of  the  artillery 
and  the  impressive  closing  scenes.  She  now  per 
suaded  her  father  to  let  her  see  Washington  open 


5J2  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

the  ball,  and  then  she  would  return  home  fully  con 
tent.  And  when  his  Excellency,  with  dignity  and 
grace,  having  Mrs.  General  Knox  for  partner,  car 
ried  down  a  dance  of  twenty  couples  in  the  stately 
minuet,  she  felt  as  if  the  grandest  visions  which  her 
old  friend  Will  Shakspeare  had  ever  raised  in  her 
mind,  had  been  more  than  fulfilled. 

But  all  was  growing  confused  and  somewhat  dis 
orderly  where  they  stood,  and  her  father  had  said 
more  than  once, 

"  Come,  Vera,  it  is  getting  late,  and  we  have  far 
to  go." 

Vera  turned  away  with  a  deep  sigh  ;  she  had  ever 
felt  a  longing  for  social  pleasures  and  the  compan 
ionship  of  people  of  culture.  The  beautiful  and 
brilliant  scene  before  her  showed  how  attractive 
such  occasions  were  in  reality,  and  she  had  looked 
on  with  the  natural  desires  of  a  young  and  healthful 
mind.  She  had  once  hoped  to  participate  in  such 
social  reunions  at  the  side  of  Saville,  and  even  the 
thought  had  been  ecstasy.  But  now  she  felt  that 
the  deep  shade,  which  fell  so  early  across  their  hum 
ble  mountain  cabin,  was  the  type  of  the  somber 
shadow  that  would  ever  rest  upon  her  life. 

"  Come,  Vera,"  said  her  father  still  more  urgently 
to  the  girl,  who  was  lingering,  for  she  saw  in  the 
gay  throng  beneath  the  arbor  a  face  that  reminded 
her  of  Saville. 

They  found  their  steps  impeded ;  the  confusion 
around  them  increased  ;  suddenly  her  father  was 
struck  down  by  a  blow  from  some  one  behind  him, 
and  before  Vera  could  cry  out,  a  handkerchief  was 


' MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


513 


passed  around  her  mouth,  two  men  seized  her  hands 
on  either  side  and  thrust  them  within  their  arms, 
and  she  was  being  forced  away  in  the  darkness,  she 
knew  not  whither ;  but  she  could  not  help  associat 
ing  the  dark,  bloated-faced  officer  who  had  twice 
before  insulted  her,  with  the  outrage. 

The  assault  had  been  cunningly  conceived  and 
skillfully  carried  out,  for  the  villainous  accomplices 
were  making  loud  demonstrations  around  the  pros 
trate  father,  thus  drawing  the  attention  and  the 
crowd  thither,  while  the  daughter  was  being  hurried 
off  unperceived. 

Never,  perhaps,  had  Vera  been  in  greater  peril  be 
fore.  She  was  so  overcome  by  terror  and  a  sense  of 
suffocation  that  she  was  almost  fainting,  when  the 
handkerchief  was  snatched  from  her  mouth,  and  she 
wrenched  violently  from  the  grasp  of  her  captors. 

"  Ye  spalpeens !  "  cried  Captain  Molly,  with  a 
wild  Irish  howl,  and  she  drew  her  nails  across  the 
eyes  of  one  of  the  men.  No  wildcat  of  the  neigh 
boring  mountains  could  have  given  a  deeper  or 
more  vindictive  scratch,  and  he  was  glad  to  stumble 
off  in  the  darkness  away  from  the  crowd  which 
Molly's  shrill  voice  was  rapidly  gathering. 

But  it  was  toward  the  principal  villain  that  the 
redoubtable  "  captain  "  directed  her  chief  attention, 
and  she  laid  upon  him  a  clutch  from  which  he  vainly 
sought  to  escape. 

"  I'll  tache  ye  a  lesson,"   she  yelled.     "  Ye  shall 

have  some  wounds  afore  the  war  is  over,  I  warrant 

ye,  an'  they  won't  be  in  yer  back  'nuther,  but  on  yer 

big  bloated  face,  where  yer  granchildren  kin  see  the 

22* 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

scars ;  "  and  she  clawed  him  like  a  tigress,  and 
until  his  cries  made  a  duet  with  her  own  shrill 
voice. 

On  being  released,  Vera  had  looked  around  a  mo 
ment  in  hesitating  terror.  She  could  not  see  her 
father,  a-nd  she  knew  not  where  he  was.  All  around 
were  dark,  strange  faces,  and  hurrying  forms  of  men 
and  women,  and  the  air  was  filled  with^confused 
cries,  above  which  arose  Molly's  loud  vituperation, 
for  with  every  blow  and  scratch  she  fired  a  volley  of 
epithets.  But  a  few  rods  away,  the  bewildered  girl 
saw  the  lighted  arbor,  with  Washington  full  in  view. 
If  she  could  reach  him  she  knew  that  she  would  be 
safe.  She  darted  through  the  intervening  throng, 
past  the  startled  and  astonished  guests,  and  knelt  at 
his  feet. 

''Officer  of  the  guard,"  cried  Washington  sternly, 
"what  means  such  ruffianly  disorder  without  that 
women  must  fly  to  us  for  protection?  Arrest  all 
concerned  in  it.  What  do  you  wish,  madam  ?  Do 
not  be  afraid,"  he  said  to  Vera. 

"  Your  Excellency,"  cried  Saville,  stepping  eagerly 
forward,  "  I  will  answer  for  that  maiden  with  my 
life." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Vera  sprang  to  his  side 
and  clung,  panting,  to  his  arm. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Saville,  I  think  that  she  is  capable 
of  answering  for  herself.  If  I  mistake  not,  I  have 
met  this  young  girl  before." 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency,"  faltered  Vera,  with  her 
hand  upon  her  side ;  "  and  you  were  kind  to  me,  and 
therefore  I  fled  to  you  for  protection  now." 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED.  t^cj 

"  And  you  shall  have  full  protection,  my  child  ;  so, 
calm  your  fears.  Indeed,  Mr.  Saville  looks  as  if  he 
might  defend  you  against  the  world." 

By  this  time  the  attention  of  all  was  directed  to 
Colonel  Wellingly.  With  a  face  as  pallid  as  that  of 
Vera's,  he  came  forward  and  asked,  in  a  husky 
voice, 

"  Will  you  please  tell  me  your  name?" 

"  Vera— Vera  Brown." 

"  Is  that  your  only  name  ?  " 

-Yes." 

The  colonel  looked  at  her  a  moment,  shook  his 
head  despondently,  and  muttered,  as  he  stepped 
back, 

"  It's  very,  very  strange.  I  never  saw  such  a  re 
semblance  ;  and  the  same  old  habit,  too,  of  putting 
her  hand  to  her  side." 

"O  Theron!  you  have  lost  an  arm;  you  did  not 
tell  me,"  said  Vera,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  That  is  a  small  loss  compared  with  all  I  have 
gained.  I  did  not  wish  to  pain " 

"  My  daughter,  where  is  my  daughter  ?  "  cried  a 
loud,  agonized  voice  from  without,  and  wrenching 
himself  away  from  the  guards  who  had  arrested  him 
as  one  of  the  disturbers  of  the  peace,  the  exile 
rushed  into  the  lighted  arbor.  All  fell  back  before 
his  tall  form,  and  wild,  threatening  aspect,  for  the 
expression  of  his  face  was  a  terrible  blending  of 
anguish  and  rage. 

"  She  is  here,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Saville  promptly. 
"  You  are  both  among  friends  ; "  and  he  led  Vera  tc 
him  and  placed  her  hand  in  his. 


516  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

"Come,"  said  her  father  eagerly;  "  let  us  go.  Let 
us  escape  while  we  can." 

Again  Colonel  Wellingly  stepped  forward  and 
confronted  the  exile. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  excitedly. 

The  moment  Mr.  Brown's  eyes  fell  on  the  ques 
tioner,  he  staggered  back  as  if  he  had  received  a 
heavy  blow. 

"Are  you  Arthur  Wellingly?"  he  asked,  in  a 
strange,  hoarse  whisper. 

"  I  am,"  was  the  agitated  answer. 

"  You  did  not  die,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  Guy ;  and  I  have  been  searching  for  you  all 
these  years.  O  my  brother !  "  and  he  clasped  the 
trembling  exile  to  his  heart. 

"  O  Esther,  Esther !  my  poor,  dead  wife !  why 
could  you  not  have  seen  this  day  ?  "  Guy  Wellingly 
groaned,  with  remorseful  memories. 

"  She  is  dead,  then  ?  "  his  brother  said,  in  a  low, 
shuddering  tone. 

"  Yes,  dead." 

At  this  moment,  Vera,  to  whom  the  strange  scene 
began  to  grow  intelligible,  stepped  forward  and  said 
earnestly, 

"  No,  father — no,  uncle — not  dead,  but  in  heaven." 

"  This  is  a  remarkable  scene,"  said  Washington, 
with  moistened  eyes.  "  Colonel  Wellingly,  I  congrat 
ulate  you  on  the  success  of  your  long  search,  of 
which  I  have  often  heard  with  sympathy.  I  already 
esteem  myself  as  among  the  friends  of  your  niece, 
and  think  you  will  have  just  cause  to  be  proud  of  her; 
and  I  shall  hope  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  your 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED.  517 

brother.  I  now  suggest  that  you  take  your  relatives 
to  your  quarters,  for  you  must  have  much  to  speak 
of  in  which  strangers  have  no  part." 

"  I  thank  your  Excellency,"  was  the  grateful  reply. 
"  I  have  been  so  overwhelmed  by  this  unexpected 
meeting  that  I  am  not  myself." 

"Your  emotions  are  most  natural,  sir,  and  are  to 
your  credit." 

"Vera,"  said  Saville,  coming  to  her  side  and  taking 
her  hand,  "  I  am  overjoyed  at  your  good  fortune. 
I  thank  God  from  the  depths  of  my  heart.  My  little 
wild  flower  has  become  a  great  lady." 

He  felt  her  ringers  seeking  her  mother's  ring,  and 
she  answered  in  a  low  tone,  "  No  outward  changes 
can  change  that  of  which  this  ring  is  the  token.  You 
shall  ever  be  first.  Good  night." 

But  before  they  could  move  away,  a  shrill  voice 
just  without  the  arbor  cried, 

"  Ye  didn't  arrist  him  at  all;  I  arristed  him  meself, 
and  I'm  a-goin'  to  take  him  afore  his  Ixcellency. 
Git  out  o'  the  way,  ye  spalpeens,  or  I'll  tear  yer  eyes 
out ;  "  and  she  broke  from  the  guards,  dragging  her 
bleeding,  half-murdered  captive  with  her,  and  did 
not  stop  till  she  stood  before  Washington. 

"  This  is  the  spalpeen,  your  Ixcellency,  as  was 
carryin'  off*  the  perty  Misthress  Vera.  I  heerd  the 
hull  plot,  and  I  cotched  him  in  the  very  dade." 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  demanded  Washing 
ton  sternly,  and  yet  with  difficulty  maintaining  his 
gravity,  for  the  wretched  officer  looked  like  a  torn 
quariy  in  the  claws  of  some  strange  bird  of  prey. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  all  we  can  tell  your  Excellency  is 


518  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

that  we  found  him  on  the  ground,  and  this  woman  on 
top  of  him  pounding  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life." 

At  this  there  was  a  general  and  irrepressible  burst 
of  laughter,  in  which  even  Washington  joined  for  a 
moment.  But,  instantly  recovering  his  gravity,  he 
asked, 

"  Miss  Wellingly,  does  this  woman  state  the  truth 
about  this  man?'* 

"  She  does,  your  Excellency ;  but  I  think  that  he 
has  been  sufficiently  punished  and  humiliated  al 
ready." 

"  I  cannot  agree  with  you  upon  this  occasion," 
said  Washington,  his  face  becoming  almost  terrible 
in  his  indignation.  Then  addressing  Captain  Molly, 
he  asked, 

"  You  are  the  woman  who  took  her  husband's 
place  at  his  gun  in  the  battle  of  Monmouth  ?  " 

"  I  be,  your  Ixcellency;  an'  it  was  moighty  swate 
in  ye  to  give  me  the  pay  and  rank  of  sergeant." 

Washington's  face  twitched  a  moment,  but  he 
managed  to  say,  with  his  former  sternness, 

"  You  are  a  far  better  soldier  than  the  craven 
whom  I  am  glad  to  see  in  your  clutches.  Will  you 
oblige  me  by  taking  from  his  uniform  all  insignia  of 
rank?" 

"  Faix,  yer  Ixcellency,  I  will.  Barrin'  the  presence 
of  the  foine  leddies,  I'd  take  ivery  stetch  off  him  as 
I'd  skin  an  eel." 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed  this  speech,  and  hei 
miserable  victim  looked  as  if  he  would  indeed  be 
glad  to  have  the  mountains  fall  and  cover  him  from 
the  universal  scorn. 


A   MYSTERY  SOLVED. 


519 


"  Now,"  continued  Washington  to  an  officer, 
"  take  him  to  the  guard-house,  and  to-morrow  I 
wish  him  drummed  out  of  camp  with  the  Rogue!s 
March  ; "  and  the  culprit  was  led  away. 

"  Come,  my  dear  niece,  my  heart  is  too  full  to 
endure  this  publicity  any  longer,"  said  Colonel 
Wellingly. 

"  In  one  moment,"  Vera  replied ;  and  crossing 
to  Captain  Molly,  she  took  her  hand  in  both  of 
hers,  saying, 

"  I  thank  you  from  the  depths  of  my  heart.  If 
you  ever  need  a  friend,  come  to  me.", 

"  Have  ye  become  a  great  leddy  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  be  a  lady  at  all  did  I  fail  to  remem 
ber,  with  grateful  affection,  all  who  were  kind  to  me 
in  my  need.  Good-by  for  the  present,  my  brave, 
true  friend.  I  owe  you  more  than  words  can  express." 

"  An'  ye  pay  me  in  the  coin  I  loikes  best.  Faix, 
ther's  nothin'  that  goes  furder  wid  man  nor  baste  than 
akoind  word.  Though  I'm  a  bit  rough  and  reckless 
loike,  I'd  ruther  have  ye  spake  to  me  as  ye  does  than 
a  hatful  of  crowns." 

"  The  money  shall  not  be  lacking  either,"  said 
Colonel  Wellingly,  offering  her  his  purse. 

"  Not  a  penny  will  I  iver  take  for  anythin'  I've 
done  for  Misthress  Vera,"  and  she  darted  away. 

With  a  low  courtesy  to  General  and  Lady  Wash 
ington,  and  a  swift  glance  to  Saville,  Vera  permitted 
herself  to  be  led  away  with  her  father ;  and  the  won 
dering  guests  were  boundless  in  their  admiration, 
and  almost  equally  so  in  queries  that  could  not  as 
yet  be  answered. 


520  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

Tascar,  who  had  been  watching  all  in  a  state  of 
excitement  that  made  him  almost  as  explosive  as 
one  of  the  cartridges  of  the/>«  de  joie,  was  sent  to 
inform  old  Gula  that  her  master  and  mistress  would 
not  return  that  night  ;  and  the  tale  he  told  his 
mother,  and  acted  out  in  pantomime  that  night,  was 
more  marvelous  than  any  of  her  weird  imaginings. 

A  few  hours  later  the  beautiful  colonnade  or 
arbor  was  darkened,  and  echoed  only  to  a  lonely  sen 
tinel's  tread. 


EXPLANATIONS. 


521 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

EXPLANATIONS. 

EVEN  the  rude  temporary  quarters  which  Colo 
nel  Wellingly  occupied,  at  West  Point,  gave 
evidence  that  he  was  a  man  of  wealth  and  culture  ; 
for,  as  far  as  possible,  he  had  surrounded  himself 
with  objects  that  ministered  to  refined  and  luxurious 
tastes.  He  had  been  the  more  inclined  to  carry  out 
his  bent,  from  the  fact  that  his  duties  would,  in  all 
probability,  keep  him  at  his  present  location  for  a 
long  time. 

In  the  fullness  of  his  heart  it  seemed  as  if  he 
could  not  do  enough  for  his  brother  and  niece  ;  and, 
for  one  naturally  stately  and  reserved,  his  manner 
was  affectionate  in  the. extreme.  He  embraced  Vera 
again  and  again,  and  his  eyes  rested  on  her  with 
an  expression  of  wistful  tenderness,  which  proved 
that  she  was  the  embodiment  of  a  very  dear 
memory. 

When  he  heard  that  they  had  not  partaken  of  any 
refreshment  since  their  frugal  lunch  early  in  the  day, 
he  brought  out  a  bottle  of  rich  old  madeira,  and 
ordered  his  servant  to  prepare  as  sumptuous  a  sup 
per  as  could  be  provided  promptly. 


522  NEAR    TO   NATURE'S  HEART. 

11 1  cannot  realize  it  all,"  said  Vera  again  and 
again  ;  and  her  father  ejaculated,  more  than  once, 

"  Thank  God !  your  blood,  Arthur,  is  not  on  my 
soul.  It  is  now  possible  that  I  may  again  become  a 
man."  After  a  few  moments  he  asked  hesitatingly, 

"  Shall  we  tell  Vera  ?     She  does  not  know." 

"  Yes,  Guy ;  it's  right  she  should  know.  I  will 
tell  her,  for  I  feel  that  I  am  as  much,  if  not  more,  to 
blame  than  you." 

"  No,  Arthur ;  no.  There  is  no  excuse  for  the 
murderous  blow  I  struck  you,  and  the  remorse 
and  fear,  that  have  followed  me  through  all  these 
years,  have  nearly  destroyed  my  reason.  I  sank 
lower  than  the  beasts  ;  for  they,  at  least,  provide  for 
their  own.  I  wonder  that  you  can  forgive  me.  I 
can  never  forgive  myself." 

"  I  do  forgive,  and  in  the  same  breath  ask  forgive 
ness.  Henceforth  we  must  be  to  each  other  all  that 
she  who  is  dead  would  have  wished.  I  shall  seek 
to  make  reparation  to  you  and  Vera  to  the  extent 
of  my  ability,  and  you  shall  share  in  all  I  possess. 
It  is  best  that  Vera  should  know  everything,  for 
with  those  who  are  as  closely  united  as  we  shall  be, 
there  should  be  no  mysteries.  Vera,  the  highest 
praise  I  can  give  you  is,  that  you  closely  resemble 
your  mother  when  she  was  of  your  age.  Never  did 
a  maiden  live  who  had  greater  power  to  win  and 
keep  affection  than  Esther  Ainsley.  She  was  of 
humble  station,  being  the  daughter  of  a  curate,  who 
had  a  small  charge  near  to  our  estate ;  but  she  was 
dowered  with  a  beauty  of  person  and  character 
which  I  have  never  seen  equaled.  „  Our  mother  died 


EXPLANA  TIONS.  523 

when  Guy  and  myself  were  children,  and  our  father 
died  before  I  was  through  with  my  studies,  so  that 
I,  as  eldest  son,  became  heir  to  a  large  property,  at 
a  time  when  I  needed  restraint,  guidance,  and  coun 
sel,  more  than  wealth  and  independence.  The  les 
sons  of  self-control  and  patience,  which  should  have 
been  taught  us  in  childhood  and  youth,  were  left  to 
the  schooling  of  bitter  experience ;  and  bitter,  in 
truth,  it  has  been  to  us  both.  I  valued  my  untram- 
meled  position  chiefly  because  there  was  no  one  to 
prevent  me  from  marrying  the  daughter  of  this 
obscure  and  penniless  curate.  Only  her  own  will, 
which  was  as  strong  as  she  was  gentle,  did  prevent 
the  marriage,  for  I  sought  in  every  possible  way  to 
shake  her  resolution.  There. was  not  a  trace  of 
gratified  vanity  in  her  refusal,  but  only  the  keenest 
distress.  At  last  she  told  me  that  she  loved  some 
one  else,  and  I  think  she  was  about  to  inform  me  who 
it  was,  but  my  darkly  vindictive  face  prevented  her. 
Egotistic  and  passionate  fool  that  I  was,  I  felt  that 
no  one  had  a  right  to  thwart  me,  and  I  determined 
to  discover  the  one,  whom  I  at  once  regarded  as  a 
personal  enemy.  To  be  brief,  I  was  not  long  in 
learning  that  it  was  Guy,  my  younger  and  only 
brother ;  but,  in  the  infatuation  of  my  passion,  this 
fact  made  no  difference,  and,  as  the  eldest,  I  would 
brook  no  rivalry.  I  confronted  him  one  evening,  as 
he  was  returning  from  a  tryst  with  Esther,  and 
arrogantly  informed  him  that  he  could  not  cross  my 
path  in  this  matter.  I  first  made  him  a  large  offer, 
if  he  would  quit  the  country  and  leave  the  field 
clear  for  me.  But  he  said,  and  with  good  reason, 


524 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


that  he  would  not  relinquish  Esther  Ainsley  for  the 
wealth  of  England,  much  less  for  the  pitiful  sum  1 
offered.  One  word  Jed  to  another.  We  both  be 
came  enraged,  and  at  last  I  sprang  toward  him  in  a 
transport  of  passion,  and  he,  equally  unmanned, 
struck  me  on  the  head  with  a  heavy  cane  that  he 
carried,  and  for  weeks  thereafter  I  was  unconscious." 

Guy  Wellingly,  who  was  sitting  with  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  groaned  deeply. 

"  You  see,  Vera,"  continued  her  uncle,  "  I  was 
even  more  to  blame  than  he.  I  had  it  in  my  heart  to 
strike  just  as  heavy  a  blow.  Indeed,  we  were  both 
beside  ourselves  at  the  time,  and  scarcely  responsi 
ble.  The  trouble  was  that  neither  of  us  had  ever 
learned  the  first  lesson  of  self-restraint." 

"  O  Arthur !  I  was  sure  I  had  killed  you.  I 
brought  water  from  the  brook,  but  I  could  not  re 
vive  you,  and  then  came  the  one  desperate,  all-ab 
sorbing  desire  to  fly  and  hide,  which  has  been  my 
curse  ever  since.  I  felt  that  I  had  upon  me  the 
mark  of  Cain." 

"  We  have  both  paid  dearly  for  that  rash  quarrel, 
in  which  I  insist  that  I  was  to  blame  more  truly 
than  yourself.  I  had  a  narrow  escape  from  death. 
My  body  servant  found  me  late  at  night,  and  I  only 
revived  to  pass  into  a  brain  fever,  and  then  after 
I  regained  consciousness  came  the  dreary  weeks 
of  slow  convalescence,  in  which  recovery  was  re 
tarded  by  my  restlessness  and  self-reproach.  For 
a  time  I  tried  to  forget  my  sorrow  and  disap 
pointment  in  dissipation,  but  I  soon  turned  from 
sensual  excess  with  loathing.  In  every  sane 


EX  PLAN  A  TIONS. 


525 


moment  I  saw  Esther's  pure,  reproachful  face.  I  do 
not  think  that  a  man,  who  has  been  absorbed  by  a 
love  for  a  pure,  good  woman,  can  ever  make  a  beast 
of  himself,  unless  there  is  something  essentially  gross 
in  his  nature. 

"  As  soon  as  I  was  able,  I  traced  you  and  Esther 
to  Liverpool,  and  all  I  could  learn  was  that  you  had 
been  married  and  had  sailed  for  America.  Her  father 
and  mother  were  quite  broken-hearted  at  the  loss  of 
their  child.  The  only  alleviation  of  their  sorrow 
that  I  could  give  was  to  secure  to  them  a  competence 
for  life.  As  time  passed  on,  and  I  brooded  over  the 
past,  quiet  life  in  England  became  hateful  to  me.  I 
resolved  that  I  would  come  to  this  country  and  try 
to  find  you.  As  the  years  passed,  this  search  became 
a  passion  with  me,  and  the  increasing  difficulty  and 
doubt  only  stimulated  my  purpose.  It  was  a  good 
thing  for  me,  for  it  absorbed  my  sad  thoughts,  and 
kept  my  mind  from  preying  on  itself.  I  would  often 
follow  a  supposed  clue  for  months,  only  to  be  dis 
appointed.  I  have  often  passed  up  and  down  this 
river,  little  dreaming  that  the  objects  of  my  search 
were  but  a  few  hundred  rods  away.  Oh !  that  I  had 
found  you  in  time  to  have  seen  Esther,  and  asked 
her  forgiveness. 

"  But  a  few  words  more  will  explain  how  I  happen 
to  be  in  the  Continental  service.  In  my  wandering 
over  this  country,  I  became  greatly  enamored  with 
its  beauty  and  magnificence,  while  the  wildness  of 
many  of  its  vast  solitudes  accorded  with  my  moods 
and  tastes.  I  am  very  fond  of  hunting,  and  I  could 
gratify  that  bent  here  to  my  heart's  desire.  I  have 


526 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


no  special  ties  in  England,  so  I  returned  thither,  sold 
my  estate  to  advantage,  and,  to  insure  myself,  in 
vested  large  sums  in  France  and  Holland,  as  well  as 
England,  in  .addition  to  that  which  I  brought  with 
me  to  this  country.  When  the  American  struggle 
for  independence  commenced,  my  heart  took  sides 
with  this  people.  They  had  been  so  kind  and  sym 
pathetic  in  every  case,  as  they  learned  that  I  was 
trying  to  find  relatives  who  had  migrated  hither,  that 
I  identified  myself  with  their  cause  from  the  first. 
Besides,  my  long  residence  here  convinced  me  of  its 
justness.  On  seeing  that  the  struggle  was  inevitable, 
I  instructed  my  English  agent  to  transfer  my  funds 
to  Holland,  and  from  thence  I  have  drawn  them 
largely  hither,  and  the  American  Government  is,  to 
some  extent,  in  my  debt.  During  the  war,  I  sought 
the  duty  of  a  staff  officer,~as  it  brought  me  in  contact 
with  many  troops  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  and 
enabled  me  to  continue  my  inquiries  concerning  any 
one  answering  to  your  name  and  description.  But 
you  escaped  me  utterly,  until  our  most  unexpected 
meeting  to-night.  I  was  getting  weary  and  dis 
couraged  in  my  search.  I  was  becoming  oppressed 
with  my  loneliness,  and  life  began  to  drag  heavily  ; 
but  now  that  I  have  found  you,  Guy,  and  have  this 
dear  girl,  who  is  the  image  of  her  mother,  to  provide 
for,  I  shall  find  abundant  zest  in  living." 

As  he  finished  his  narration,  Vera  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  said, 

"  I  am  equal  to  mother  in  only  one  thing.  I  can 
love  very  deeply,  and  you  have  won  my  heart  already. 
I  won't  let  you  regret  having  found  me,  uncle." 


EXPLANA  TIONS.  527 

Then  going  to  her  father's  side,  she  added,  with  reas 
suring  caresses, 

"  After  this  night,  do  not  again  doubt  that  God  is 
good,  father.  Though  I  never  before  knew  what 
the  deed  was  that  led  to  your  flight  from  England, 
I  have  been  sure  that  Mr.  Saville's  words  were  true, 
and  that  your '  remorse  was  greater  than  your  crime.' " 

"  No,  Vera,"  replied  her  father,  in  strong  emotion. 
"  If  I  had  in  fact  slain  this  generous  and  forgiving 
brother,  I  should  never  have  known  peace  in  this 
or  any  other  world.  As  it  is,  Arthur,  I  am  but  a 
miserable  wreck  of  a  man,  warped,  by  base  fear 
and  years  of  brooding  remorse,  from  all  good  and 
noble  uses.  There  is  nothing  that  makes  such  awful 
havoc  in  the  soul  as  a  constant  sense  of  guilt.  The 
knowledge  that  you  are  living  has  brought  me 
inexpressible  relief,  and  I  ask  nothing  more,  and  no 
thing  better  than  this  fact.  But  Vera  still  has  life  be 
fore  her.  I  have  at  times  meditated  self-destruction, 
in  the  hope  that  she  might  thus  escape  the  curse 
which  I  felt  resting  on  me ;  but  something  held  me 
back." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  murmured  Vera  shuddering. 

"  Now  she  can  be  very  happy,"  continued  her 
father.  "  Since  I  am  not  the  foul  criminal  that,  in 
justice  to  Mr.  Saville,  I  told  him  that  I  was,  his  pride 
will  no  longer  be  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  their 
marriage." 

"  Vera  marry  Colonel  Saville !  "  exclaimed  her 
uncle.  "  He  is  married  already." 

"  Saville  married  !  "  ejaculated  her  father,  in  un 
bounded  surprise  and  rising  anger.  "  Then  I  have 


528  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

an  account  to  settle  with  him ; "  and  his  tall  form 
towered  up  instinct  with  passion.' 

At  the  mention  of  Saville's  name  Vera's  face  be 
came  scarlet ;  then,  at  her  father's  words,  her  pallor 
was  equally  marked. 

"  Vera,"  said  her  uncle,  in  a  tone  of  deep  distress, 
"  what  trouble  have  we  here  ?  " 

But  the  maiden,  strong  in  her  conscious  rectitude, 
rallied  promptly,  and,  in  a  firm,  quiet  tone,  said, 

"  We  have  no  trouble  whatever,  except  we  make 
it.  Uncle,  Mr.  Saville  is  a  true,  honorable  man,  and 
he  has  never  asked  me  to  do  a  thing  that  he  thought 
wrong.  Both  father  and  myself  would  have  been 
dead  years  ago  were  it  not  for  his  unspeakable  kind 
ness.  Father,  be  calm.  You  cannot  strike  Theron 
Saville  without  striking  me.  He  is  my  brother,  my 
more  than  brother,  and  I  love  him  better  than  life." 

"  But,  Vera,"  remonstrated  her  uncle,  with  a 
gravity  almost  approaching  to  sternness  ;  "  in  your 
secluded  life  you  have  not  learned  how  rigid  the 
proprieties  of  life  are  in  these  matters.  You  bear 
the  proud  name  of  Wellingly,  and — 

"  Uncle,"  interrupted  Vera,  with  a  dignity  and 
firmness  of  which  her  gentle  mother  had  never  been 
capable,  "  I  bear  a  prouder  name  than  that  of 
Wellingly.  I  am  a  Christian,  and,  in  the  light  of 
God's  truth,  and  not  the  fashion  of  this  world,  I 
have  thought  this  matter  out  to  its  right  issue,  and 
I  shall  stand  by  my  decision.  Rather  than  permit 
any  one  to  come  between  me  and  Mr.  Saville,  I  will 
go  back  to  the  poverty  and  obscurity  of  our  moun 
tain  cabin  for  the  rest  of  life  I  do  not  speak  these 


EXPLANA  TIONS. 


529 


words  as  a  willful,  ignorant  child,  but  as  a  woman 
who  has  been  matured  and  sobered  by  years  of 
bitter  sorrow.  Mr.  Saville  is  my  dearest  friend — 
nothing  more ;  and  he  never  can  be  anything  more. 
I  have  known  for  years  that  he  is  married.  He  told 
me  himself,  and  he  never  cherished  one  dishonorable 
thought  toward  me.  I  declare  to  you  both  that 
there  is  nothing  in  our  relationship  to  which  my 
sainted  mother  would  object.  But  I  would  rather 
perish  by  slow  torture  than  stand  aloof  from  him  or 
treat  him  coldly." 

"  This  is  very  extraordinary,"  said  her  uncle. 

"  I  cannot  reconcile  his  conduct  with  your  words," 
added  her  father,  in  deep  agitation. 

The  strain  of  the  eventful  day  had  at  last  become 
too  great  for  Vera,  and  she  felt  herself  growing  faint. 

"  Be  patient,"  she  said  wearily;  "you  shall  know 
all.  As  uncle  said,  we  shall  have  no  mysteries.  But 
I  can  say  no  more  to-night.  In  pity,  uncle,  remem 
ber  what  I  have  passed  through  to-day." 

"  Forgive  me,  my  child,"  he  said  remorsefully, 
and  bringing  her  a  glass  of  wine.  "  I  will  trust  you, 
Vera,"  he  added  ;  "  for  your  words  and  manner  are 
those  of  truth  and  purity.  My  only  fear  is  lest  you 
should  be  misled  through  your  innocence  and  ignor 
ance  of  the  world." 

She  looked  him  steadily  in  the  face  a  moment,  as 
only  the  innocent  could  do,  and  then  replied, 

"  Uncle,  my  honor  and  good  name  are  as  safe  in 
Mr.  Saville's  hands  as  in  yours  or  father's.     He  is  a 
Christian    gentleman,    in    the   truest  and  strongest 
sense  of  the  word." 
23 


530 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


"  There,  my  dear,  I  am  satisfied,  and  your  father 
must  be,  too,  until  he  can  have  fuller  explanation. 
Calm  yourself  now,  and  let  me  show  you  to  the  best 
resting-place  which  a  soldier  can  provide  for  a  guest 
who  is  as  loved  and  welcome  as  she  was  unex 
pected;  "  and,  without  listening  to  herremonstrances, 
he  gave  her  his  own  room,  and  kissed  her  tenderly 
as  he  said  good-night. 

Vera  was  too  exhausted  to  think  ;  but  she  was 
dimly  conscious  that,  after  all,  it  would  be  difficult 
to  make  her  father  and  uncle  understand  the  honest 
skepticism  from  which  Saville's  course  was  the 
natural  outgrowth.  What  was  so  clear  to  her  mind 
might  seem  dubious,  or  worse,  to  theirs.  She  was 
not  so  weary,  however,  but  that  she  thanked  God, 
with  a  boundless  gratitude,  that  He  had  led  her 
safely  through  that  season  of  doubt  and  strong 
temptation.  If  she  had  yielded,  she  saw  plainly  that 
her  proud  and  stately  uncle  would  have  cast  her 
away  in  bitter  contempt ;  or,  what  was  far  worse, 
her  father  might  have  killed  her  lover. 

Early  the  next  morning  Saville  sought  an  inter 
view  with  Colonel  Wellingly,  and,  to  secure  privacy, 
took  him  to  Jasper's  quarters,  which  he  was  occu 
pying,  in  the  surgeon's  absence. 

Vera's  words  and  manner  had  convinced  her  uncle 
that  she  had  not  consciously  erred  from  the  path  of 
rectitude,  but  he  was  not  so  sure  of  Saville  ;  and  it 
must  be  confessed  that  he  was  not  a  little  anxious, 
for  he  saw  that  Vera  was  a  girl  of  unusual  force  and 
decision,  and  he  feared  that  if  Saville  chose  to  take 
advantage  of  the  strong  hold  he  had  upon  her  affec- 


EXPLANA  TIONS.  5  3 1 

tions,  he  could  make  them  trouble  indeed.  Although 
he  had  been  very  favorably  impressed  with  Saville, 
his  knowledge  of  the  world  made  him  slow  and  cau 
tious  in  trusting  men  who  are  under  strong  tempta 
tion.  And  yet  he  was  pleased  with  the  fact  that 
the  young  man  had  come  to  him  so  promptly,  feel 
ing  that  it  might  give  him  a  chance  to  prevent  diffi 
culties. 

"  Colonel  Wellingly,"  said  Saville,  after  they  were 
alone,  "  I  have  sought  the  first  opportunity  possible 
that  I  might  make  explanations  which  are  your  due, 
and  which  it  might  cause  your  niece  pain  and  em 
barrassment  to  give.  I  have  no  fears  that  my  good 
name  would  suffer  through  any  words  of  hers ;  on 
the  contrary,  she  would  excuse  conduct  for  which  I 
have  only  bitter  condemnation.  I  owe  to  her  my 
life,  and  much  more  than  life,  and  it  is  a  privilege 
to  save  her  from  the  least  pain  and  annoyance.  Are 
you  willing  to  listen  to  an  honest  statement  of  all 
that  has  occurred  between  us  ?  " 

"  Colonel  Saville,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  am  gratified 
that  you  have  thus  early  sought  this  interview,  for 
it  tends  to  assure  me  that  my  niece's  confidence  in 
you  as  a  Christian  gentleman  is  not  misplaced.  I 
admit  that,  from  her  father's  words  and  manner, 
last  evening,  after  he  learned  that  you  were  a  mar 
ried  man,  I  feared  that  I  might  have  a  quarrel  with 
you.  The  Wellingly  blood  has  ever  been  over  hot 
upon  certain  kinds  of  provocation,  and  on  no  point 
more  sensitive  than  that  of  our  women's  honor." 

"  You  may  still  think  that  you  have-  cause  to 
quarrel  with  me ;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  I  shall  not 


532 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


gloss  the  truth.  You  cannot  condemn  me  more  bit 
terly  than  I  do  myself.  Nor  shall  I  shrink  from  any 
punishment  or  course  which  you  may  impose."  And 
he  gave  a  faithful  history  of  his  acquaintance  with 
Vera  from  the  first.  While,  in  justice  to  himself,  he 
showed  how  his  wrong  conduct  was  the  natural 
fruit  of  his  erratic  views,  he  did  not  in  the  least  ex 
tenuate  it ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  of  it  with  a 
censure  so  strong  as  to  be  almost  fierce.  It  was  evi 
dently  the  one  thing  for  which  he  could  never  forgive 
himself.  Indeed,  in  his  boundless  admiration  for 
Vera,  he  forgot  himself,  and  became  her  advocate 
rather  than  his  own.  He  argued  that  she  had  been 
tempted  as  no  woman  ever  was  before — tempted  by 
one  to  whom  she  was  profoundly  grateful,  not  only 
for  much  kindness,  but  for  the  fact  that  he  had  stood 
by  her  after  her  father's  statement  that  he  was  a 
criminal.  She  had  been  tempted  by  one  upon  whom 
she  was  almost  utterly  dependent  for  existence  and 
the  necessities  of  life.  And,  what  made  resistance 
tenfold  more  difficult,  he  had  not  sought  to  beguile 
her  as  a  villain  might  have  done,  but  he  had  been 
open  and  honest  in  his  error,  full  of  plausible  argu 
ments  ;  and  he  had,  for  long  months,  and  with  all 
the  skill  he  possessed,  sought  to  undermine  what  he 
regarded  as  her  baseless  faith. 

"  Moreover,"  Saville  concluded,  "there  was  much 
in  my  own  unhappy  relations  and  in  the  conduct  of 
my  wife  which  excited  her  womanly  sympathies  in 
my  behalf;  but,  in  the  face  of  all,  she  was  loyal  to 
truth  and  duty.  I  have  now  been  through  a  long 
war;  but  I  have  seen  no  heroism,  no  fidelity,  and  all- 


EXPLANA  TIONS.  533 

enduring  fortitude  equal  to  that  which  she  has  dis 
played  through  long,  weary  years,  and  I  love  and 
honor  her  next  to  God  in  whom  she  led  me  to  trust. 
I  am  through,  sir,  and  I  have  told  you  the  truth." 

As  Saville  had  warmed  with  his  narrative,  and 
spoke  with  graphic  earnestness  and  power,  Colonel 
Wellingly  walked  the  floor  in  deep  excitement,  with 
strong  and  varying  emotions  contending  on  his 
face.  When  Saville  concluded,  he  said, 

"  This  is  a  most  extraordinary  statement,  and  yet 
I  cannot  doubt  its  truth.  I  have  been  inclined  by 
turns  to  embrace  you  in  the  profoundest  gratitude, 
and  to  shoot  you  on  the  spot.  Poor  child,  poor 
child !  What  a  strange,  sad  lot  she  and  her  mother 
have  had !  Heaven  grant  that  I  may  shield  Vera 
from  any  more  of  such  dark  and  terrible  expe 
riences." 

11 1  shall  ever  echo  that  prayer,  &r,"  Saville  added 
earnestly.' 

"  Colonel  Saville,"  continued  Colonel  Wellingly, 
after  a  few  moments  of  deep  thought,  "I  cannot 
doubt,  after  hearing  all  that  you  have  said,  that 
Vera  is  correct  in  believing  you  are  now  a  Christian 
gentleman  ;  but  you  were  once  a  very  dangerous  man, 
sincere  as  you  evidently  were  in  your  errors.  As  a 
matter  of  curiosity,  I  have  read  some  of  the  writings 
of  your  old  masters,  and,  though  very  friendly  to  the 
French  people,  I  predict  for  them  terrible  evils,  as 
the  result  of  this  destructive  and  disorganizing  phi 
losophy." 

"  I  can  believe  you,  sir.  Were  it  not  for  a  firm, 
gentle  hand,  that  stayed  and  rescued  me,  it  would 


534 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


have  brought  evils  into  two  lives  that  would  have 
been  irreparable." 

"  Your  own  strong  self-condemnation,"  said  Colo 
nel  Wellingly,  "  has  disarmed  me  of  censure.  Your 
feelings  and  motives  are  now  evidently  honorable, 
and  it  would  be  wretched  folly  to  drag  forward  the 
evils  of  the  past  to  mar  the  present.  But,  Colonel 
Saville,  you  know  the  way  of  the  world,  and  how 
ready  it  is. to  suspect  of  evil.  Even  now  I  fear  that 
rumor  may  couple  your  name  with  that  of  my  niece 
in  a  sense  that  neither  of  us  can  wish." 

"  I  recognize  and  respect  your  wish.  I  will  not 
even  see  Miss  Wellingly  again,  if  you  think  such  a 
course  wise." 

"No,"  Colonel  Wellingly  replied,  after  a  little 
thought.  "  I  do  not  think  such  a  course  would  be 
wise,"  for  he  remembered  Vera's  decisive  words. 
"  I  think  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  see  her  occa 
sionally  ;  but  a  gentleman  of  your  tact  could  easily 
give  the  impression  that  your  relation  to  my  niece 
was  only  that  of  frank,  cordial  friendship.  At  the 
same  time,  it  might  be  well  to  apply  for  duty  else 
where." 

"  I  look  upon  you,"  Saville  answered,  "as  Miss 
Wellingly 's  guardian,  and  shall  be  guided  strictly 
by  your  judgment.  Believe  me,  sir,  I  should  regard 
it  as  the  greatest  misfortune  that  I  could  suffer,  if 
any  act  of  mine  should  cast  a  shadow  on  her  fair 
name.  You*  are  at  liberty  to  state  to  her  father  all 
that  I  have  told  you  ;  and  I  sincerely  hope  that  his 
mind  will  now  rapidly  recover  a  serene  and  health 
ful  tone." 


EXPLA  NA  TIONS.  535 

• 

"  I  will  satisfy  him,"  was  the  reply,  "  as  you  have 
satisfied  me.  Please  do  us  the  favor  of  dining  with 
us  at  six  this  evening." 

When  Vera  awoke,  late  in  the  day,  her  thoughts 
again  reverted  to  the  explanation  which  she  sup 
posed  she  must  make,  and  she  dreaded  the  ordeal 
unspeakably.  But  when  she  emerged  from  her 
room,  her  uncle  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  said, 

"  Vera,  Mr.  Saville  has  told  me  all,  and  I  am 
proud  of  you,  as  the  best  and  noblest  little  girl  that 
ever  breathed." 

"  That's  like  Mr.  Saville,"  said  Vera,  coloring 
deeply.  "  He  has  been  making  me  out  an  angel,  and 
himself  almost  a  villain." 

"Well',"  said  Colonel  Wellingly,  laughing,  "  the 
more  he  called  himself  a  villain,  the  more  sure  I  be 
came  that  he  was  an  honorable  man.  At  any  rate,  I 
have  invited  the  villain  to  dine  with  us  this  evening." 
She  rewarded  him  so  promptly  and  heartily  that 
the  wary  colonel  was  filled  with  alarm. 

"She  is  too  demonstrative,"  he  thought,  "and 
will  show  all  the  world  that  Saville  has  her  heart ; " 
so  he  began,  very  gravely,  "  Vera,  my  dear,  when 

in  Mr.  Saville's  presence,  I  hope  you  will " 

She  put  her  hand  over  his  lips,  and  said  smilingly, 
"  Don't  fear,  uncle  ;  a  sensitive  woman's  nature  is  a 
better  guide  in  these  matters  than  the  soundest  ad 
vice." 

During  the  hour  of  dinner  Colonel  Wellingly  was 
abundantly  satisfied  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear,  for 
the  most  evil-disposed  of  gossips  would  not  have 
seen  anything  in  Saville's  or  Vera's  manner  toward 
each  other  to  which  exception  could  have  been 


536  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

taken.  But,  as  he  gave  her  his  hand,  in  taking  leave, 
she  touched  her  mother's  ring  upon  his  finger  so 
significantly  that  he  went  away  with  his  heart 
warmed  and  comforted  by  the  thought,  "  She  will 
be  unchangeable  amid  all  changes." 

Immediately  after  Captain  Molly  left  the  arbor, 
the  evening  before,  Saville  joined  her,  and  said,  in  a 
low  tone, 

"  Molly,  my  brave  girl,  will  you  do  for  me  one 
more  good  deed  to-night  ?  " 

"  Faix,  an'  I  will ;  a  dozen  on  'em,  if  I've  toime." 

"  Promise  me,  by  all  that  took  place  in  Fort  Clinton, 
that  you  will  never  mention  my  acquaintance  with 
Miss  Vera  to  any  one.  It's  not  the  world's  business, 
and  the  world  suspects  evil  where  there  is  no  evil." 

11  Misther  Saville,"  was  her  reply,  "  may  that  big 
Hessian  that  ye  killed  cotch  me  agin  if  I  iver  say  a 
word." 

Tascar  had  often  been  warned,  but  the  boy  was 
perfectly  safe,  for  he  had  a  habit  of  dense  ignorance 
on  any  subject  concerning  which  he  did  not  choose 
to  speak. 

Only  enough  of  Vera's  romantic  story  got  abroad 
to  lend  an  increased  charm  and  interest  to  her 
beautiful  person.  If  at  first  there  had  been  some 
disposition  to  ask  what  had  been  her  relations  with 
Saville,  their  frank,  unaffected  manners  in  society 
banished  the  thought  of  evil  from  all  save  those  who, 
being  wholly  bad  themselves,  have  no  faith  in  any 
thing  good. 

In  spite  of  herself,  Vera  speedily  became  a  belle, 
and,  instead  of  being  a  hunted,  frightened  animal  of 


EXPLANATIONS.  537 

the  mountains,  as  she  once  described  herself  to  Sa- 
vrille,  she  was  now  established  in  the  highest  social 
position,  and  soon  became  a  special  favorite  with 
General  and  Lady  Washington.  In  addition  to  her 
beauty,  she  possessed  unusual  solid  attractions,  as 
heiress  of  her  uncle's  large  wealth,  and  suitors 
began  to  gather  from  far  and  near,  as,  in  her  favor 
ite  comedy,  they  had  beset  the  door  of  Portia,  in 
Belmont ;  and,  like  Portia,  she  often  sighed,  "  By 
my  troth,  Nerissa,  my  little  body  is  a-weary  of 
this  great  world."  But  the  casket  which  contained 
Vera's  image  was  Saville's  heart,  and  that  was 
closed  to  all  the  world.  She  instructed  her  father 
and  uncle  to  give  a  courteous  but  firm  refusal  to  all 
who  asked  of  them  permission  to  pay  their  addresses, 
and  those  who  sought  to  lay  siege  without  such 
formality  were  speedily  taught  that  any  attentions 
that  were  not  merely  friendly  were  most  unwelcome. 
Colonel  Wellingly  had  been  much  pleased  with 
the  situation  of  the  mountain  cabin,  and  at  once 
commenced  enlarging  it  as  a  hunting-lodge.  He 
saw  that  his  brother,  from  long  habit,  would  be 
much  happier  there  than  anywhere  else,  and  it  was 
a  place  in  which  he  felt  that  he  could  while  away 
many  months  of  the  year  when  his  duties  would 
permit.  The  incubus,  in  a  very  great  measure,  lifted 
from  Guy  Wellingly's  mind,  and  he  was  no  longer 
subject  to  his  old  fits  of  gloom,  which  bordered  on 
horror  and  despair ;  but  it  was  evident  that  he 
would  always  be  a  grave,  silent  man,  finding  the 
shadows  of  the  forest  more  congenial  than  the 
haunts  of  men. 
23* 


538 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

HUSBAND  AND   WIFE. 

SAVILLE,  at  Colonel  Wellingly's  request,  did 
not  apply  to  be  sent  from  West  Point ;  but,  be 
fore  many  weeks  elapsed,  he  was  summoned  away  for 
the  most  unexpected  and  painful  reasons.  Papers 
came  through  the  lines,  from  New  York,  containing 
the  following  statement : 

"  A  DOUBLE  CRIME  IN  HIGH  LIFE. — Mrs.  Julia 
Saville,  the  wife  of  Colonel  Saville,  of  the  American 
Army,  has  eloped  with  Captain  Vennam,  the  officer 
whom  she  married  with  such  indecent  haste,  on  receiv 
ing  from  him  the  report  of  her  husband's  death.  Cap 
tain  Vennam  had  obtained  leave  of  absence,  on  the 
pretext  of  visiting  some  friends  in  Nova  Scotia, 
whither  the  guilty  pair  have  sailed.  This  was  bad 
enough  ;  but,  on  the  night  before  their  departure,  an 
event  occurred  which  seems  to  give  proof  of  a  malice 
and  vindictive  hate,  of  which  it-  is  difficult  to  believe 
a  woman  capable,  save  on  the  theory  that  when  she 
does  fall,  she  surpasses  man  in  wickedness.  In  the 
middle  of  the  night,  flames  broke  out  in  Colonel 
Saville's  mansion,  which  has  been  occupied  by  his 
mother  during  the  war.  Mrs.  Saville  barely  escaped 
with  her  life,  and  found  refuge  in  a  small  cottage  on 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  539 

the  estate,  and  she  is  now  quite  ill  from  fright  and 
exposure.  But  the  worst  part  of  the  story  is,  that 
a  short  time  before  the  fire  manifested  itself,  she  was 
sure  that  she  heard  the  voice  of  her  son's  recreant 
wife  beneath  her  windows,  and  also  the  unrecog 
nized  voice  of  some  man.  She  also  asserts  that  the 
house  did  not  take  fire  from  within,  but  from  the 
front  piazza,  and  that  it  swept  up  the  main  stairway. 
She  and  the  servants  escaped  by  a  rear  staircase 
and  entrance.  The  night  was  dark  and  windy,  and 
favorable  for  the  fiendish  deed.  Everything  was  lost. 
The  authorities  should  thoroughly  investigate,"  etc. 

Colonel  Wellingly,  as  he  read  it,  unconsciously 
exclaimed,  "  Shameful !  Poor  Saville  !  " 

In  a  moment  Vera  was  at  his  side,  and,  before  he 
could  prevent  it,  also  read  the  paragraph. 

"  Uncle,  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Saville." 

"  But,  Vera,  my  dear,  it  may  not  be  prudent 
to " 

"  O  uncle  !  if  Mr.  Saville  has  friends,  should  they 
not  show  themselves  such  now  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  to  him  with  all  my  heart.  There  are 
many  things  which  a  man  can  do  which  are  not 
proper  for  a  young  lady.  The  very  thought  of  that 
vile  creature,  his  wife,  is  soiling  to  you." 

"  I  do  not  think  of  her,  but  of  him  in  his  cruel 
chains,"  she  replied,  weeping  bitterly.  "Never  was 
there  a  more  hideous  bondage  than  his." 

But  her  uncle  was  relieved  of  all  perplexity,  for 
his  servant  brought  him  a  note  from  Saville  to  Vera, 
containing  a  copy  of  the  paper,  but  in  his  care. 


540 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


"  I  am  so  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  sorrow," 
Saville  had  written,  "  that  I  cannot  trust  myself  to 
see  you.  Were  it  not  for  the  faith  which  you  taught 
me,  I  could  not  have  survived  this  last  blow  and 
disgrace.  By  the  time  this  reaches  you,  I  shall  be  on 
my  way  to  New  York,  and  shall  make  every  effort 
to  induce  the  British  authorities  to  permit  me  to 
visit  my  mother,  and  provide  for  her  comfort.  I  have 
not  seen  her  now  for  years,  and,  if  necessary,  I  will 
throw  up  my  commission  and  become  a  citizen  in 
order  to  reach  her  side  at  once." 

The  English  commander,  after  a  little  delay  for 
explanations,  courteously  acceded  to  Saville's  re 
quest,  on  condition  that  he  would  not  do  anything 
during  his-  residence  prejudicial  to  his  majesty's 
service.  Peace  was  now  almost  assured,  and  there 
was  a  disposition  to  relax  the  rigid  military  rule  of 
the  city. 

The  son  found  that  he  had  not  reached  his  mother 
a  day  too  soon,  for  she  was  sinking  under  the  ef 
fects  of  her  fright,  loss,  and  loneliness.  His  presence 
revived  her,  however  ;  but  she  rallied  slowly,  and  was 
a  feeble  invalid  for  the  remainder  of  the  summer  and 
autumn.  He  hoped  to  move  her  to  West  Point ;  but 
she  was  not  equal  to  the  journey,  and  most  reluctant 
to  leave  the  spot  where  she  had  spent  so  many  years. 
He  made  the  gardener's  cottage,  which  she  occupied, 
as  comfortable  as  he  could  with  his  limited  means ; 
for  his  property,  lying  chiefly  in  the  city,  had  melted 
away  during  the  war,  and  the  money  he  had  deposited 
in  Paris  was  now  inaccessible.  "He  denied  himself 
everything  that  he  might  make  his  mother  com- 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE.  541 

fortable,  and  devoted  himself  to  her,  trying  to  make 
amends  for  his  long  absence,  and  she  slowly  regained 
health  and  strength  under  his  care. 

And  yet  those  long  months  of  watching  and 
poverty  taxed  Saville's  faith  and  fortitude  to  the 
utmost.  The  open  shame  of  his  wife  did  not  make 
her  less  his  wife  in  the  legal  sense.  Her  offense 
gave  no  cause  for  divorce  before  the  laws  as  then 
existing.  In  his  intense  desire  to  escape  his  chains, 
he  had  the  legal  archives  searched  for  some  prece 
dent  ;  but  found  that  for  over  a  hundred  years  no 
divorce  had  been  granted,  in  the  province  of  New 
York,  on  the  ground  of  his  wife's  crime. 

The  future  grew  darker  and  more  uncertain  than 
ever.  His  wife  had  disappeared  utterly  from  his 
knowledge.  There  was  a  rumor  that  Captain  Ven- 
nam  had  gone  to  England.  But  Saville  knew  that 
it  was  ever  the  custom  of  satiated  lust  to  cast  away 
its  victims,  and  Vennam,  of  all  men,  was  the  one  to 
coolly  abandon  a  woman  of  whom  he  had  wearied. 
Therefore  Savilie's  wife  would  probably  become 
a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  •  earth,  and  might 
perish  in  some  miserable  place  and  way,  and  still  he 
remain  in  ignorance  of  the  event.  If  she  filled  a 
nameless  grave  in  a  foreign  land,  so  long  as  the  fact 
could  not  be  proved,  Saville  would  still  remain  bound, 
and  the  chances  were  that  he  would  now  wear  out 
his  life  in  this  slow  torture  of  uncertainty.  He 
could  never  approach  the  proud  Colonel  Wellingly 
and  ask  for  his  niece  while  such  a  doubt  hung  over 
him,  even  if  his  own  jealous  regard  for  Vera's  honor 
would  permit. 


542  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

As  the  dreary  winds  of  November  began  to  blow, 
he  became  deeply  depressed.  Captain  Vennam's 
regiment  had  been  ordered  to  England,  and  there 
was  not  the  slightest  chance  for  his  return.  Saville 
did  not  know  to  what  part  of  Nova  Scotia  he  had 
taken  his  wife.  He  had  lost  all  clues.  In  frequent 
and  painful  reveries  he  saw  himself  growing  old  in 
doubt  and  uncertainty,  ever  chained  to  a  possible, 
supposititious  woman,  who  might  be  living  a  vile  life 
of  crime  in  some  of  earth's  slums.  He  saw  Vera's 
bright  youth  and  beauty  fading  into  dim  and  prem 
ature  age  under  the  blight  of  hope  deferred.  Then, 
after  life  had  nearly  passed,  and  the  chance  for  hap 
piness  was  gone,  he  pictured  to  himself  the  return 
of  his  wife  as. a  hideous,  shrunken  hag,  as  loath 
some  in  appearance  as  in  character.  And  he  shud 
dered  at  the  thought  that  he  could  neither  refute 
nor  escape  her  claim — "My  husband!  " 

A  letter  from  Surgeon  Jasper,  that  came  in  with  a 
flag  of  truce,  greatly  increased  his  despondency,  for 
it  contained  the  incidental  statement  that  "  the 
young  officers  were  half  wild  over  Miss  Wellingly, 
and  that  she  might  take  her  pick  from  the  army." 

One  dreary  day,  when  even  the  wild  storm  with 
out  was  a  cheerful  contrast  to  his  thoughts  and 
feelings,  he  came  to  the  deliberate  conclusion  that 
Vera's  future  should  not  be  destroyed  with  his  own, 
and,  knowing  that  a  flag  of  truce  would  go  out  the 
following  morning,  he  sat  down  and  wrote,  telling 
her  just  how  he  was  situated. 

He  told  her  that  he  was  a  cripple,  that  the  war 
had  consumed  his  property,  and  that  the  sum  de- 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE. 


543 


posited  in  Paris,  even  if  he  should  be  able  to  get 
it,  would  not  be  more  than  sufficient  to  support  his 
mother.  These  facts  in  themselves  formed  a  good 
reason  why  she  should  be  released  from  the  promise 
of  which  her  mother's  ring  was  the  token.  'He  then 
stated  plainly  the  uncertainty  he  would  always  pro 
bably  be  under  in  regard  to  the  fate  of  his  wife, 
and  he  earnestly  urged  Vera  not  to  lose  her  chance 
of  happiness.  "  I  will  wear  your  mother's  ring 
henceforth  as  your- friend  and  brother,  hoping  and 
asking  for  nothing  more." 

He  inclosed  this  letter  to  the  care  of  her  uncle, 
and  intimated  that  she  had  better  show  him  the 
contents. 

He  went  out  in  the  storm,  and  made  it  certain 
that  the  letter  would  go  the  next  morning,  and  then 
returned  to  his  humble  home,  chilled,  cold,  and  wet. 
But  he  had  achieved  a  great  self-sacrifice,  and  he 
felt  better.  He  now  believed  that  Vera  would  form 
new  ties  and  interests;  and  eventually  become  hap 
py  in  them.  For  himself  he  must  look  beyond  the 
shadows  of  time. 

He  did  his  best  to  make  his  mother  pass  a  cheer 
ful  evening,  and  succeeded.  She  did  not  dream 
that  he  had  given  up  the  dearest  hope  of  life,  and 
that  his  genial  manner  was  like  sunlight  playing 
upon  a  grave.  She  had  been  ill  and  weak,  and  he 
had  not  burdened  her  with  his  sorrow. 

They  were  just  about  retiring,  when  a  light,  uncer 
tain  step  was  heard  upon  the  little  porch.  There 
was  a  low,  hollow  cough,  and  then  came  a  hesitating 
knock. 


544 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


Saville  took  a  candle  and  went  to  the  door,  and 
the  form  of  a  woman  stood  in  the  driving  sleet.  The 
candle  flared  in  the  wind,  and  nearly  went  out. 

"Who  are  you,  madam,  and  what  do  you  wish?' 
he  asked. 

"  I  am  your  wife,"  said  the  woman,  in  a  low,  des 
perate  tone. 

He  knew  from  her  voice  that  she  was  ;  but,  in  his 
surprise  and  strong  feeling,  he  could  not  immediately 
speak,  and  she  continued, 

"  I  suppose  you  will  thrust  me  out  to  die  also,  as 
I  have  been  turned  from  the  door  of  my  own  home, 
and  by  my  own  father,  this  bitter  night.  I  deserve 
nothing  better  at  your  hands.  I  said  I  would  never 
cross  your  threshold  again,  but  I  must  or  perish, 
and  I  dare  not  die.  If  you  will  only  give  me  shelter 

in  some  out ,"  but  here  a  paroxysm  of  coughing 

interrupted  her. 

"  I  cannot  turn  you  away  in  such  a  night,"  said 
Saville,  in  an  agitated  tone.  "  Indeed,  I  pity  you 
from  the  depths  of.my  heart.  I  will  give  you  food 
and  shelter  here  for  to-night,  and  in  the  morning 
will  try  to  find  a  refuge  for  you." 

"  No,  Theron,"  said  his  mother,  who  had  drawn 
near  to  the  door  and  overheard  all ;  "  if  that  woman 
comes  in,  I  will  go  out." 

"  O  mother !  you  Women  have  no  mercy  on  each 
other." 

"  I  will  not  pass  the  night  under  the  same  roof 
with  that  creature,"  said  his  mother  sternly. 

"  As  I  am  a  Christian  man,  she  shall  have  shelter 
somewhere,"  he  said  ;  and  throwing  a  large  cloak 


HUSBAND  AND    WIFE. 


545 


over  her  shoulders,  he  took  her  to  the  cottage  of  a 
poor  man  living  near,  who  was  under  great  obliga 
tions  to  Saville,  and,  with  much  difficulty,  secured  a 
room  for  her  there.  He  then  took  her  food  and 
wine  with  his  own  hands. 

"  Why  do  you  do  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Julia,"  he  said  kindly,  "  if  I  had  been  a  Chris 
tian  instead  of  an  unbeliever  when  we  were  married, 
you  might  never  have  come  to  this  wretched  state." 

"  Will  you  forgive  the  past,  and  take  me  back  as 
your  wife  again  ?  "  she  asked,  her  old  trait  of  self- 
seeking  promptly  showing  itself. 

"  I  will  and  do  forgive  you,"  he  said  gravely, 
"  and  I  will  do  all  for  your  comfort  that  I  can  in  my 
poverty ;  but  you  can  never  be  my  wife  again  save 
only  in  name." 

"  Well,"  she  muttered,  "  that's  more  than  I. could 
expect;  and  it's  a  great  deal  better  than  dying  in  the 
street  like  a  dog." 

The  next  day  she  was  very  ill  and  feverish,  and 
Saville  summoned  a  physician.  After  a  brief  exam 
ination,  he  told  Saville  that  she  could  live  but  a  short 
time  under  any  circumstances,  since  she  was  in  the 
last  stages  of  hasty  consumption. 

Her  wretched  history  after  leaving  New  York  was 
soon  told.  Vennam  left  her  penniless  in  a  northern 
city,  and,  after  a  brief  life  of  crime,  she  became  ill 
from  exposure  in  the  rigorous  climate.  A  British 
officer  who  had  known  her  in  New  York  secured 
her  a  steerage  passage  thither.  She  arrived  in  the 
storm,  but  did  not  dare  go  to  her  father's  house  till 
after  dark.  He  had  sent  her  from  his  door  with 


546  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

curses,  and    then  she  came  to  the  one  whom  she 
had  wronged  most. 

She  was  in  great  terror  when  the  physician  told 
her  that  she  could  not  live,  and  the  scenes  at  her 
bedside  were  harrowing  in  the  extreme.  Saville 
patiently  and  gently  tried  to  lead  her  to  the  Merciful 
One  who  received  and  forgave  outcasts  like  herself; 
but  her  mind  was  too  clouded  by  terror  and  too  en 
feebled  by  disease  to  understand  anything  clearly 
save  the  one  dreadful  truth  that  she  must  die.  Her 
delirious  words  were  even  worse  than  her  partially 
sane  cries  and  moans ;  but  Saville,  with  patient  en 
durance,  remained  at  her  bedside  almost  continually, 
and  ministered  to  her  with  his  own  hand  to  the 
last.  All  that  medical  skill  and  faithful  care  could 
accomplish  was  done  to  alleviate  her  suffering  and 
add  to  the  number  of  her  days.  With  earnest  words 
and  prayer  he  sought  to  instill  into  her  guilty  and 
despairing  heart  something  like  faith  ;  but  that  had 
happened  to  her  which  may  happen  to  any  who  persist 
in  the  ways  of  evil :  she  had  passed  so  far  down  into 
the  dark  shadow  of  moral  and  physical  death  that 
no  light  could  reach  her.  Her  end  was  so  inex 
pressibly  sad,  that,  although  by  it  Saville  was  re 
lieved  from  his  cruel  bondage,  he  yet  sat  down  by 
her  lifeless  body  and  wept  as  only  a  strong  man 
can  weep. 


WEDDED   WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING.        547 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

WEDDED  WITH    HER   MOTHER'S  RING. 

VERA  was  alone  with  her  uncle  when  she  re 
ceived  Saville's  letter.  She  read  it  with  a 
blending  of  smiles  and  tears,  and  then  passed  it  to 
Colonel  Wellingly,  saying, 

"  Mr.  Saville  wished  you  to  see  this,  and  I  am 
very  glad  to  have  you  do  so,  for  it  will  satisfy  you 
more  fully  than  ever  what  kind  of  a  man  he  is." 

Her  uncle  read  the  contents  with  great  interest, 
and  then  said,  "  This  letter  does  Mr.  Saville  much 
credit,  and,  I  must  say,  I  think  he  takes  a  correct 
and  sensible  view  of  things.  Your  promise  was  a 
rash  one,  at  best,  and  it  was  extorted  from  you  in  a 
moment  of  dire  emergency.  Moreover,  what  he 
says  is  true,  and  it  is  probable  he  will  never  hear  a 
word  from  his  wife  again.  And  yet  Vera  Wellingly 
cannot  marry  a  man  whose  wife  may  appear  any 
day." 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  marry  him,  uncle." 

"  Now  that  is  sensible,  too.  You  must  be  quite 
well  convinced  by  this  time  that  you  can  take  your 
pick,  and  make  a  very  brilliant  match." 

"  Where  is  your  wife,  uncle  ? "  said  Vera,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes.  "  You  are  the  kind  of  man  who 
can  always  take  his  pick." 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

*^l 

He  was  silent,  for  she  had  touched  a  very  tender 
chord  in  him,  as  he  had  in  her  heart. 

<4  It  may  be  that  some  can  manage  these  things  in 
a  sensible,  thrifty  way,"  she  continued;  "  but  it  does 
not  seem  to  run  in  our  blood  to  do  so.  Forgive  me, 
uncle,  for  touching  a  sensitive  chord ;  but  I  wish  you 
to  learn  to  interpret  my  heart  by  your  own  ;  then 
this  question  will  be  finally  settled,  and  you  can 
shield  me  from  many  unwelcome  attentions." 

"  Well,"  said  her  uncle,  trying  to  give  a  lighter 
turn  to  the  conversation,  "  somebody's  loss  is  mine 
and  your  father's  great  gain." 

"  Yes,"  said  Vera ;  "  I  intend  to  make  myself  so 
necessary  to  you  both,  that  you  will  be  like  two  drag 
ons  toward  everyone  with  suspicious  designs.  I  am 
satisfied  that  it  is  money  that  most  of  them  are  seek 
ing,  at  best  ;  and  Theron  loved  me  and  was  kind 
when  I  was  hungry  and  in  rags.  Foolish  fellow !  I 
suppose  he  was  in  a  state  of  high  tragedy  when  he 
wrote  this  letter,  and  thought  that  I  would  take 
him  at  his  word.  He  will  never  make  such  a  blunder 
again  after  receiving  my  answer." 

But  one  day,  before  she  found  a  chance  of  sending 
her  reply  to  New  York,  her  uncle  entered  his  quar 
ters  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  and  said,  pro 
ducing  a  city  paper, 

"  Vera,  it  is  due  to  you  that  you  should  see  this 
at  once."  And  he  pointed  out  the  following  para 
graph  : 

"  RARE  MAGNANIMITY. — The  Saville  tragedy  has  at  length  ended, 
and  ended  strangely.  As  might  have  been  expected,  Captain  Ven- 
nam  soon  abandoned  the  wretched  woman  who  eloped  with  him,  and 


WEDDED   WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING. 


549 


she  returned  to  this  city  in  a  sick  and  dying  condition.  In  the  pitiless 
storm  of  the  night  of  the  25th  ult.,  she  was  repulsed  from  her  parents' 
door,  and,  in  her  despair,  sought  help  from  her  most  deeply  wronged 
husband.  Strange  to  say,  he  has  treated  her  with  wonderful  kindness. 
He  could  not  give  her  a  refuge  under  the  same  roof  with  his  mother  ; 
but  he  procured  for  her  a  comfortable  room,  and  was  untiring  in 
his  attentions,  doing  everything  in  his  power  to  ajleviate  her  suffer 
ings  during  the  few  days  she  survived.  We  have  these  facts  from  the 
citizen  at  whose  house  she  died,  and  can  vouch  for  their  correctness." 

Vera  dropped  the  paper  and  fled  to  her  room,  and 
several  hours  elapsed  before  she  reappeared.  When 
she  did,  her  eyes  gave  evidence  that  many  tears  had 
mingled  with  her  joy.  In  curious  and  feminine  con 
tradiction  to  her  plainly  expressed  purpose,  she  did 
not  write  to  Saville  by  the  next  flag  of  truce.  "  He 
is  now  at  liberty  to  write  to  me  another  and  a  very 
different  letter,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  and  I  shall 
wait  till  he  does." 

But  when  Saville's  letter  came,  as  it  did  in  time, 
it  breathed  only  a  quiet  and  friendly  spirit,  such  as 
he  would  naturally  write  on  the  supposition  that  she 
had  accepted  his  last  letter  as  the  basis  of  their  fu 
ture  relations.  It  was  not  in  Vera's  nature  to  write 
and  inform  him  that  he  was  all  at  fault,  and  that  she 
was  like  a  rose  waiting  to  be  plucked.  "  He  will 
have  to  find  out  all  for  himself,"  she  thought ; 
"  but  I  fear  he  will  be  ridiculously  blind,  and  con 
tinue  his  high  tragedy  until  some  unforseen  circum 
stance  opens  his  eyes." 

Early  in  the  spring  Mrs.  Saville  so  far  regained 
her  health  that  her  son  was  able  to  return  to  the 
army,  a  step  rendered  specially  necessary  by  his 
pecuniary  circumstances.  He  called  promptly  on 


550  NEAR   TO  NATURE'S- HEART. 

Vera  after  his  return  to  West  Point ;  but  it  so 
happened  that  there  were  several  strangers  calling 
at  her  uncle's  quarters  at  the  time,  and  his  manner 
was  somewhat  formal  and  distant.  She  was  provoked 
at  herself  that  she  permitted  her  bearing  to  be  tinged 
by  his. 

After  the  guests  were  all  gone,  her  uncle  found  her 
in  tears,  and  said, 

"  Foolish  child !  as  if  you  had  cause  to  worry. 
You  are  both  like  gunpowder,  and  only  need  a 
spark  to  set  you  off." 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken,  uncle.  Theron  is 
worse  than  a  spiked  cannon." 

The  next  evening,  she  and  her  father  were  taking 
a  walk  by  the  river,  near  the  extreme  point  of  land 
where  Saville  had  first  discovered  her  nearly  eight 
years  before,  on  the  June  afternoon,  now  memorable 
to  both.  Footsteps  Caused  her  to  glance  up  the  bank, 
and  then  she  pulled  her  father  into  the  concealment 
afforded  by  a  clump  of  cedars.  In  a  few  moments, 
Saville  came  out  on  the  point,  and  threw  himself 
down  upon  the  grassy  plot  where  he  had  seen  Vera 
reclining  before  he  caused  her  hasty  flight.  She  put 
her  finger  to  her  lips,  and  made  a  sign  to  her  father 
not  to  move,  and  then  she  stole  up  toward  him  as  he 
had'  before  approached  her,  and  reached  the  same 
low  cedar  over  which  he  had  peered  wonderingly  and 
admiringly  at  her  childish  face  and  form. 

"  O  stupid  Theron!  can't  you  feel  that  I  am  here?" 
she  thought.  "  I  felt  your  presence  even  then  be 
fore  I  saw  you.  I  am  so  near  that  I  can  almost 
touch  you,  and  yet  there  you  lie  at  lazy  length." 


WEDDED  WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING.         551 
He  commenced  singing,  in  a  low  tone, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

She  waited  no  longer,  but,  in  her  sweet  voice,  re 
peated  the  old  refrain,  which  had  been  the  signal  for 
so  many  of  their  trysts.  He  sprang  up,  and  catch 
ing  a  glimpse  of  her  laughing  and  blushing  face  back 
of  the  cedar,  came  instantly  to  her  side. 

"  See  what  a  whirligig  time  is,"  she  said.  "  I  sur 
prised  you  on  this  occasion." 

"  But  I  shall  not  run  away  as  you  did,  Vera." 

"  Indeed !  Now  it  is  my  turn  to  be  surprised 
again.  I  had  fears  lest,  in  your  desire  to  escape, 
you  might  plunge  into  the  water." 

He  looked  at  her  very  earnestly,  and  her  eyes 
drooped  under  his  gaze,  as  they  had,  years  before, 
in  the  early  dawn,  after  she  had  rescued  him  from 
Fort  Clinton. 

"  Vera,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "  I  am  very  poor." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  the  subject?"  she 
asked,  with  a  sudden  mirthfulness  in  her  eyes. 

"I  am  but  a  cripple,"  he  continued  sadly,  "and 
there  is  a  dark  stain  upon  my  name." 

Her  laughing  eyes  became  full  of  tears. 

"  Circumstances  have  greatly  changed.  You  are 
now  Vera  Wellingly,  and  the  heiress  of  large  wealth." 

"  I  would  rather  be  the  ragged,  friendless  Vera 
Brown  you  found  at  my  mother's  grave,  than  have 
you  talk  in  this  way,  Theron." 

"  Would  to  heaven  you  were  !  "  he  said  with  pas 
sionate  earnestness  ;  "  for  then  I  would  kneel  at  your 
feet  and  beg  you  to  be  my  wife." 


552 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


She  dashed  her  tears  right  and  left,  and  taking  his 
hand,  asked, 

"Theron,  what  right  have  you  to  this  ring?  You 
have  become  a  skeptic  again,  and  I  shall  have  to 
teach  you  a  new  and  stronger  faith." 

"  And  may  I  give  this  old,  bent  ring  which  you 
are  wearing  its  first  meaning  ?  "  he  said  eagerly. 

"  It  never  had  any  other  meaning  to  me,"  she 
said,  with  a  low  laugh,  and  then  she  added,  with  an 
exquisite  touch  of  pathos,  "  We  could  not  help  lov 
ing  each  other,  Theron,  after  all  that  had  happened; 
we  could  only  help  doing  wrong.  Do  not  grieve 
that  you  have  lost  an  arm,  for  you  shall  have  both 
of  mine  in  its  place.  That  which  you  call  a  stain 
upon  your  name  has  come  to  be,  in  my  eyes,  the 
most  flashing  jewel  in  the  crown  of  your  manhood. 
When  that  poor  creature  fled  to  your  door  from  her 
father's  scorn  and  curses,  you,  who  had  been  most 
wronged,  acted  as  the  Divine  Man  would  have  done. 
If  you  could  be  so  kind  to  her,  how  sure  I  am  of 
patient  tenderness  !  I  will  conclude  my  long  homily 
with  this  plain  exhortation  :  Never  forget  that 
Vera  Wellingly  and  Vera  Brown  are  one  and  the 
same  person.  It  will  save  you  a  world  of  trouble." 

Then  she  called  her  father,  but  he  had  stolen 
away  and  left  the  lovers  to  themselves. 

The  long  and  terrible  war  was  over.  The  last 
British  soldier  had  embarked  from  the  city  of  New 
York,  and  Washington,  who  had  become  the  foremost 
general  of  the  age,  was  about  to  repair  to  the  seat 
of  government,  that  he  might  resign  his  commission 
and  become  a  simple  American  citizen.  But,  before 


WEDDED    WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING. 


553 


doing  so,  he  attended  a  wedding  in  a  beautiful  up 
town  villa  which  had  been  hastily  prepared  for  the 
occasion. 

It  was  a  magnificent  affair  for  those  primitive  and 
war-depleted  times.  Sam  Fraunces  and  his  buxom 
daughter  Phoebe  presided  over  the  cuisine  and  en 
tertainment,  and  the  best  military  band  of  the  army 
discoursed  gay  music.  Many  of  the  leading  men  of 
the  country,  State,  and  city,  were  present,  and  among 
them,  it  might  almost  be  said,  was  Captain  Molly, 
for  she  persisted  in  wearing  her  cocked  hat  and 
artilleryman's  coat.  Surgeon  Jasper  found  himself 
an  honorable  master  of  ceremonies,  and  Tascar  was 
'charged  with  so  many  important  duties  that  he  at 
test  was  satisfied  that  he  utterly  eclipsed  his  old 
friend,  Pompey.  His  mother,  old  Gula,  in  her  lofty 
red  turban,  looked  as  if  she  might  have  been  in  very 
truth  an  African  dowager  queen. 

Mrs.  Saville  was  so  happy  that  she  quite  renewed 
her  youth,  and  would  have  been  perfectly  ready 
to  admit  that  heaven  had  made  a  better  match 
than  she  had  thriftily  compassed,  as  she  had  once 
supposed.  Vera's  gentle  and  affectionate  manner 
had  won  her  heart  at  once,  while  she,  at  the  same 
time,  complacently  remembered  the  ducats  of  the 
bride. 

The  tall,  bent  form  of  the  father  was  conspicuous, 
even  though,  in  accordance  with  his  old  shrinking 
habit,  he  ever  sought  the  background  in  the  bril 
liant  scene.  Peace  sat  serenely  on  his  brow,  where 
gloom  had  lowered  for  so  many  years.  He  believed 
that  the  curse  had  passed  away  from  him  and  his, 
24 


554  NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 

and  he  was  daily  becoming  more  grateful  for  recog 
nized  blessings. 

But  Colonel  Wellingly  was  the  genius  of  the 
occasion,  and,  with  a  genial,  high-bred  courtesy,  he 
moved  among  the  guests,  bestowing  words  of  wel 
come  and  graceful  attentions,  with  the  tact  of  one 
whose  thorough  knowledge  of  men  enabled  him  to 
make  every  utterance  and  act  timely  and  appropriate. 
To  each  one  he  gave  the  sense  of  being  recognized 
and  cared  for;  and  his  fine  breeding  made  him  at  ease 
in  addressing  Governor  Clinton,  or  the  Commander- 
in-chief,  and  no  less  so  in  speaking  to  some  subaltern, 
or  Captain  Molly  herself. 

Soon  a  breezy  and  expectant  rustle  and  hum  of 
voices  announced  that  the  bride  and  groom  were 
descending  the  grand  stairway. 

As  Vera  entered,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  her 
father,  there  was  a  deep  murmur  of  admiration. 

Her  heart  was  filled  with  unspeakable  gratitude, 
for  God's  minister  was  before  her,  and  in  his  hand 
God's  Holy  Word.  And  when  Saville  spoke  the 
words,  "  With  this  ring  I  thee  wed,"  and  put  upon 
her  finger  the  plain  gold  band  with  which  her  father 
had  espoused  her  mother,  she  thought  she  felt 
that  mother's  hands  resting  upon  her  head  in  bless 
ing.  Even  in  that  supreme  moment,  her  mind 
flashed  back  to  the  hour  of  her  strong  temptation, 
when  her  mother's  charge  that  she  should  be  wedded 
with  this  ring  came  to  her  help  like  an  angel's  hand. 
While  the  clergyman  was  offering  the  concluding 
prayer,  her  mind  wandered  a  little,  and  harbored  the 
thought, 


WEDDED   WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING.         555 

"If  on  earth  God  can  thus  richly  reward  patient 
obedience,  what  will  heaven  be  ?  " 

As  Washington  was  about  to  take  his  leave,  with 
strong  expressions  of  his  regard  and  kindly  interest, 
Saville  asked  him  if  he  would  grant  them  a  brief 
private  interview. 

With  some  surprise  he  consented,  and  was  con 
ducted  into  a  beautiful  little  room,  to  which  no 
guests  had  been  admitted.  On  a  stand  of  inlaid 
wood  of  rare  value,  and  resting  on  some  exquisitely 
embroidered  velvet,  lay  a  little  book. 

"Does  your  Excellency  recognize  this?"  asked 
Vera,  pointing  to  it. 

As  Washington  took  it  up,  a  quick  ray  of  intelli 
gence  lighted  up  his  face,  and  he  said, 

"  It  is  my  old  Bible,  which  I  have  carried  through 
many  a  battle." 

"  God  bless  your  Excellency!"  said  Vera,  taking 
his  hand  in  strong  emotion.  "  This  book,  which  is 
your  gift,  carried  me  through  the  one  sore  battle  of 
my  life." 

"  And  this  happy  wedding  to-night,"  added  Saville, 
in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling,  "  at  which  I  feel  the  Son 
of  God  is  present,  as  truly  as  He  was  at  Cana,  is 
due  to  your  gift  of  this  Bible,  and  the  Christian 
counsel  which  accompanied  it.  I  was  then  an  unbe 
liever,  and  was  tempting  this  dear  wife  to  a  union 
in  which  she  must  have  thrown  away  her  mother's 
wedding-ring ;  but  this  Bible  saved  us  both,  and  we 
bless  you  for  it  with  a  gratitude  that  shall  never 
cease." 

Tears  gathered  thickly  in  Washington's  eyes,  and 


55<5 


NEAR    TO  NATURE'S  HEART. 


taking  Vera  in  his  arms,  he  kissed  her  tenderly, 
saying, 

"  The  words  which  you  and  your  husband  have 
spoken  form  one  of  those  memories  which  grow 
dearer  to  the  last  hour  of  life." 

One  quiet  summer  evening,  Arthur  and  Guy  Wel- 
lingly  issued  from  the  door  of  the  rustic  hunting- 
lodge  into  which  the  mountain  cabin  had  been  de 
veloped,  and,  following  a  path,  they  came  to  a  lovely 
and  secluded  spot,  embowered  in  the  primeval  trees 
of  the  forest.  From  a  pedestal  arose  a  light  sTiaft  of 
white  marble,  around  which  was  entwined  the  cling 
ing  ivy.  It  bore  no  name.  That  was  engraved  on 
the  hearts  of  the  brothers. 

Was  she  a  weak  woman  who  had  thus  enchained 
two  such  men  ?  Is  not  that  faith  rational  which 
affirms  that  love  so  faithful  must  have  a  spiritual  and 
eternal  fruition  ? 


THE  END. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co., 
*os.  10  to  20  Astor  Place,  New  York. 


E.  P.  ROE'S  POPULAR  STORIES. 

BARRIERS  BURNED  AWAY. 

Price,  $1,75. 

"  When  so  much  trashy  and  soul  enervating  literature  is  issued  under 
the  head  of  religious  novels,  it  is  refreshing  to  see  one  like  the  Rev,  Mr. 
Roe's  Barriers  Burned  Away,  written  with  an  earnest  purpose.  Sensational, 
and  yet  to  good  effects — inartistic,  as  might  be  looked  for  in  the  young 
author's  first  attempt,  and  yet  unhackneyed,  lively  and  fascinating." — 
Sp>  ingfield  Republican. 

"  The  characters  are  delineated  with  truthfulness  and  consistency.  In 
their  conception  the  author  shows  equal  originality  and  boldness.  Even 
Old  Bill  Cronk,  the  rough,  hard-swearing,  hard-drinking,  big-fisted,  big- 
hearted  Western  drover,  could  not  be  spared  from  the  scene. — New  York 
Tiibune.". 

"  We  congratulate  Mr.  Roe  upon  his  story  of  the  day." — New  York 
Observer. 


FROM  JEST  TO  EARNEST. 

Price,  $1,75, 

"  His  plots  are  never  commonplace.  The  change  in  Lottie's  char 
acter  is  well  delineated,  and  with  a  naturalness  and  artistic  skill  which  we  do 
not  often  find  in  the  so-called  religious  novels." — Harper's  Magazine. 

"  It  is  surprising  to  find  how  genuinely  interesting  his  stories  always  are. 
There  is  nothing  of  the  vulgarly  sensational  about  them." — Eclectic  Mag. 

"  Mr.  Roe's  books  are  religious  novels  in  perhaps  the  best  sense  of  the 
term." — Zion's  Herald,  Boston. 

"  A  simple,  pure  story,  such  us  Mr.  Roe  has  always  written,  is  one  of 
the  most  potent  vehicles  of  moral  and  religious  training  that  can  be  em 
ployed." — Buffalo  Daily  Courier. 

"  Mr.  Roe's  works  have  had  a  fine,  noble  purpose,  each  and  all.  The 
present  story  is  an  excellent  one — of  high  tone  and  deep  religious  strength." 
— Boston  Evening  Traveler. 

*'  It  is  a  thoroughly  good  story  because  pervaded  by  an  influence 
thoroughly  pure." — Am.  Rural  Home. 

"The  hero  is  simple,  strong,  and  manly;  much  such  a  man  as  Mr. 
Lincoln  must  have  been  had  he  turned  his  attention  to  theology  instead 
of  politics." — New  York  World. 

"  A  bright,  vivacious  story,  full  of  wit  and  even  frolic." — Portland  Tran 
script. 

'  He  vindicates  his  right  to  use  the  talent  which  God  has  given  him  for 
the  instruction  and  interest  of  the  thousands  who  read  his  works." — 
New  York  Evangelist. 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 
751  BROAD  WAT,  N.  F. 


E.  P.  ROES  POPULAR  STORIES. 

WHAT  CAN  SHE  Do  ? 

Price,  $1,75, 

"  The  moral  purpose  of  this  book  is  amply  worthy  of  the  author's 
zeal.  It  is  that  young  women  should  be  educated  in  such  a  way  that  if  left 
without  money  they  shall  be  able  to  support  themselves.  Mr.  Roe  is 
especially  severe  on  our  American  vice  of  'pride  of  occupation.'" — N.  K, 
Evening  Post. 

"  We  consider  that  parents  are  indebted  to  the  author  for  the  most 
practical  story  of  the  day." — Philadelphia  Age. 

"  His  works  have  an  honest,  healthy  tone,  and  a  purpose.  His  nar 
rative  is  full  of  interest — in  the  present  case  unusually  so.  We  must  not 
forget  in  particular  to  allude  to  his  always  charming  bits  of  country  life ; 
his  gardening  at  once  poetic  and  profitable." — N.  Y.  Evening  Express, 

"The  narrative  is  fascinating." — Chicago  Advance. 

"  An  exceedingly  well-written  story." — Churchman. 

OPENING  OF  A  CHESTNUT  BURR. 

Price,  $1,75. 

"  In  The  Opening  of  a  Chestnut  Burr,  Mr.  Roe  has  made  a  marked 
advance  upon  his  two  previous  stories.  He  has  already  exhibited  a  remark 
able  power  of  description,  which  in  this  volume  he  uses  with  good  effect  in 
the  scenes  of  fire  and  shipwreck.  It  is  thoroughly  religious,  thoroughly 
Christian  both  in  tone  and  teaching  " — Harper's  Magazine. 

11  The  character  of  the  selfish,  morbid,  cynical  hero,  and  his  gradual 
transformation  under  the  influence  of  the  sweet  and  high-spirited  heroine,  are 
portrayed  with  a  masculine  firmness,  which  is  near  akin  to  power,  and  some 
of  the  conversations  are  animated  and  admirable." — Atlantic  Monthly. 

"  The  most  able  story  that  we  have  had  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Roe.  It 
is  also  the  best  of  the  so-called  religious  novels  published  of  late," — The 
Christian  Union. 

"  There  are  many  stirring  and  dramatic  scenes  in  the  story,  while  its 
quieter  phases  are  not  wanting  in  grace  and  sweetness." — Boston  Traveler. 

"  Mr.  Roe  has  laid  out  his  greatest  power  in  depicting  the  character  of 
the  heroine,  who  is  a  model  of  saintly  purpose  and  ardent  piety  without 
losing  the  peculiar  charms  of  female  loveliness.  He  is  strong  in  his  delineation 
of  character.  All  his  personages  have  a  clear,  sharp-cut  individuality,  and 
make  a  fresh  and  deep  impression  "on  the  reader." — New  York  Tiibime. 

Over  SEVENTY-FIVE  THOUSAND  of  the  four  books 
named  above  have  been  sold  in  this  country.  They  have  also 
all  been  published  in  England. 

For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  post~ 
paid,  on  receipt  of  price ',  by 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 
751  BROADWAY,  N.    Y. 


WORKS  ON  GARDENING,  ETC., 

By  E.  P.  ROE, 

Author  of  "NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART." 


I MUU1L  ON  TIE  CULTURE  OF  SMJLL  FRUITS 

STRAWBERRIES,  RASPBERRIES,  CURRANTS,  GOOSEBERRIES, 
BLACKBERRIES,  &c. 

HOW    TO     RAISE    AND     MARKET    THEM. 

8vo,  paper,  illustrated,  50  Cts. 

Editor  American  Agriculturist,  April  Number. — "He  has  gone  into  the  work  not 
only  with  great  enthusiasm,  but  with  unusual  intelligence,  and  has  been  remarkably  suc 
cessful.  The  methods  of  culture  that  have  led  to  this  success,  and  his  experience  with  the 
leading  varieties  of  small  fruits,  are  now  presented  in  a  handy  pamphlet  of  over  eighty  large 
pages,  in  which  instructive  facts  are  told  in  a  chatty  manner,  which  makes  them  pleasant 
reading.  The  chapter  on  Picking  and  Marketing  is  eminently  practical  and  sensible." 

New  York  Observer. — UA11  that  the  best  experience  and  genuine  enthusiasm  can  reveal 
will  be  found  in  Mr.  ROE'S  Manual." 

Chicago  Advance. — u  Packed  full  of  useful,  practical  information,  and  any  one,  amateur 
or  professional,  can  get  from  it  as  much  and  as  valuable  help  as  from  the  more  voluminous 
and  higher  priced  works  on  the  same  subjects." 

Illustrated  Christian  Weekly. — "  Eminently  practical." 

Christian  Intelligencer. — The  pamphlet  is  the  quintessence  of  clearness,  precision  and 
sound  common  sense." 

Evening  Post. — "  The  little  book  is  intended  by  its  author  to  supply  the  place  of  those 
friendly  chats  with  his  many  inquiring  friends  which  circumstances  obviously  deny  him. 
A  great  deal  of  ground  is  gone  over  in  a  very  easy,  conversational  way  ;  instead  of  a  scien 
tific  treatise,  we  have  a  pleasant  record  of  a  thoughtful  man's  experience." 


PLAY  AND  PROFIT  IN  MY  GARDEN. 

I2mo,         -        -        $1.50. 

The  New  York  Tribune  says  of  it.—"  This  book  is  as  poetical  as  it  is  practical, 
still  he  is  no  dreamer — he  goes  into  every  essential  detail  with  as  much  minuteness  and 
precision  as  if  he  was  writing  a  manual  for  a  practical  farmer." 

From  Harper  s  Magazine,  July,  1873. — "  His  suggestions  are  practical ;  the  mistakes 
and  the  disappointments,  as  well  as  the  successes,  are  recorded  ;  the  style  is  always  genial 
and  often  piquant  5  and  even  for  city  readers  who  have  no  gardens,  his  book  will  prove 
extremely  interesting  reading." 

From  the  Boston  Gazette. — %i  A  very  charming  book,  n<tt  only  by  reason  of  its  pleasant 
style,  but  for  its  quiet,  refined  humor,  and  fund  of  really  useful  information  on  the  subject 
Of  gardening." 

For  sale,  or  sent  by  mail  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY, 

751  BROADWAY,   ».  T,1 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

BookSlip-50m-5,'70(N6725s8)458 — A-31/5 


N9  817018 


PS2727 
Roe,  E.P.  N4 

Near  to  nature's 
heart. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


